


You Reap What You Sow

by Sincorah



Category: The Hobbit - All Media Types, The Hobbit - J. R. R. Tolkien
Genre: Aftermath of Slavery, F/M, Happy Ending, Not really all that graphic Violence, eventually, slave AU
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-02-17
Updated: 2016-11-27
Packaged: 2018-03-13 10:26:32
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 29
Words: 36,959
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/3378074
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Sincorah/pseuds/Sincorah
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Frerin survives Azanulbizar, against all odds, but is captured by slave traders before he can find his brother or father again. Believed to be dead, he is left to the mercy of the Men, until one day, many years later, he is found by a human, who buys him and brings him to the home of a hobbit known as Bilbo Baggins. What will become of the noble dwarf prince, and what will become of the human brave, or foolish, enough to save him?</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. A New Home

**Author's Note:**

> Please don’t take this too seriously, I know it is most likely inaccurate on several counts, I am just writing this for fun. It is not my best, it was written late at night with a friend in mind, and I am suffering from caffeine withdrawal. Flames are not appreciated, but any other feedback is welcome. Please enjoy.

Walking quietly along the gentle rolling hills of the Shire, Mena breathed in gently, enjoying the change of pace from the bloodshed and constant state of fear she had become accustomed to. While she missed her home, she was glad she had made the decision to get her friends to safety first.

Their small farm on the very southernmost borders of Eriador had been burned down by orcs, but she had stayed to fight as best she could to buy time for her young comrades to escape on the three horses they owned. The four girls had lived together for several years, and none could remember how they came to be there.

An elderly ranger had found them alone and abandoned in the forest and had taken care of them until his passing five years ago, at which point Mena and Ismira were both thirteen. They took care of 6 year old Amy and 7 year old Tamina together, although Mena was the unofficial leader. Now Amy was 11 and Tamina 12, and Mena and Ismira were both 18.

When the raiding party of orcs attacked, Mena grabbed Amy and Tamina and threw them upon two of their three horses, commanding Ismira to mount the last and get them to safety. Mena took up the sword she had inherited from their late ‘father’, and stood between the escaping girls and the bloodthirsty creatures.

After the swift horses had carried the three to a far enough distance, Mena took her chance and bolted, relying upon swiftness of foot to save her. There was no way she could fight off the entire band of orcs, but she could outrun them, especially as daytime was nigh and they despised the light. Sure enough, as her footsteps flew across the ground, the pack fell farther and farther behind, until she could no longer hear the sounds of pursuit.

Ismira, Amy, and Tamina all rode for Minas Tirith as quickly as the horses could carry them, knowing it would take well over a week at the fastest they could ride. Ismira worried for Mena, but she knew her first duty was to see the little ones safely to the city. Their father had a sister in the city who would most likely take them in, and in return they could work for her to earn their keep.

Mena, in her turn, chose to head farther north, to reach the land of the Halflings. Their adopted father had taken her several times over the years to visit one Belladonna Took, a good friend of his, albeit rather adventurous for a hobbit. They had met when he was still actively patrolling with the Rangers of the North, and formed a friendship. Mena had always loved visiting Belladonna and her young son, Bilbo, and even after Belladonna passed away, she had enjoyed traveling to visit Bilbo Baggins of Bag End.

Although her home was destroyed, Mena’s heart was filled with joy that her little family was safe. What better time than now, then, to visit an old friend and perhaps stay for a while. Her emergency plan had always been for the others to flee to Gondor and stay with their father’s sister, which is where she guessed Ismira had taken the others now. Mena did not wish to be a fourth mouth to feed, and so she decided to see if Bilbo would mind a guest for a few weeks.

She was broken out of her reminiscing when she saw a familiar round green door, and a small figure sitting before it smoking a pipe of Old Toby. “Bilbo Baggins!” Mena cried out joyfully, running forward to embrace the jovial hobbit, delighted to see her friend once again.

 

* * *

 

 

Mena had settled in to her new home with an ease only the friendly camaraderie with a hobbit can bring. Bilbo had been delighted to have company, unexpected as it was, and was more than willing to allow her to stay ‘as long as you wish, of course!’. She had sent a letter to Ismira, and heard back that they missed her, but were happy with their new lodgings in the city as well.

As several weeks passed in bliss, Mena settled into a happy, peaceful existence, although she put on weight rather quickly eating at a hobbit’s pace. She settled into a routine of going for a two hour run early every morning to keep in shape. It had taken her quite a while to convince Bilbo that skipping first breakfast was not going to starve her, and he had eventually acquiesced. However, he had told her in no uncertain that she should be back in time for second breakfast or he would give her fifth helpings for elevensies, luncheon, afternoon tea, dinner, _and_ supper.

As she was already in excellent physical condition, her runs allowed her to cover a great deal of ground in the amount of time she was out, and she often ran southwards, stretching farther and farther each day. It was one such day that she came across a group of some of the most dangerous creatures in the land after orcs and the like. Slave traders.


	2. First Meeting

“Well, here we are!” Mena announced brightly, trying desperately to sound cheerful and not totally lost. She walked in the front door of Bilbo’s home followed by a dirty mass of rags in chains. _What have I gotten myself into?_

           When she had come across the traders not two hours earlier, she had initially wanted nothing more than to get away from them and pretend they did not exist. However, the leader stepped forward and hailed her loudly. Although she wanted nothing to do with them, she politely stepped forward and tried to say she was uninterested in any of their ‘wares’. Then she saw _him_.

            The dwarf was covered in filth and badly malnourished, being chained at both hand and foot. She could smell sweat, urine, and something unsettlingly similar to blood around the slave, and instantly she was overcome with a feeling of rage. “How much for that creature?” she asked in a tone of contempt, trying to make it seem as though she was disgusted by the dwarf rather than the _worms_ daring to enslave another sentient being.

            The leader, a shifty looking wiry old man, stepped forward after giving the captive a kick. “Surely you do not want this one, my lady. Look at him, he is very dangerous and not well trained at all. We have much finer stock that my lady could look at. Perhaps this...?” She cut him off immediately. “I want the dwarf. Tell me his price or leave. I will take no other.”

            Trying not to show how frightened and disgusted by all this, she stared him straight in the eyes as though daring him to challenge her decision. He hesitated a moment, then bowed. “Of course, my lady. Men! Unchain the dwarf from the others and give the young lady her purchase.” Turning back to Mena, he said with a toothy grin, “ The price is merely 100 gold pieces my lady.”

            “You said so yourself he is trouble! Surely 100 is far too much. How about 50 gold pieces?” The man tilted his head, then grinned again. “Of course, I am sure that is more than fair. 50 it is.” _Slimy worm knows full well that is more than most would pay for the dwarf, and not with no haggling. Still, if I can get the poor dwarf away from him, it is more than worth it. I hope this filth doesn’t know a fake from a real gold coin._ She had another pastime in Bag End, and that was creating fake copies of a gold piece that she had taken with her when she fled her home. Now she pulled out her small purse and counted out the fake gold pieces for the slavers. _After all, I shouldn’t feel guilty for cheating scum of the earth like this._

            One of the other traders handed her the chain attached to the manacles at the dwarf’s wrists, and the leader bowed once more, his sickening voice oozing fake sincerity. “May he serve you well, my lady. It was a pleasure doing business with you.” She briefly nodded and then gave the chain a tug to hurry the dwarf back up to the north, eager to get as far away from those evil men as possible.

            On the way back, the dwarf stumbled several times, seeming to have trouble walking at the swift pace Mena was trying to set with his feet in chains. She glanced at him apologetically, and slowed down once they were out of sight of the traders. An awkward silence settled over the pair, and Mena had no idea what to say to her new acquisition. _What will Bilbo say?_

 

* * *

 

            They walked in the front door, and Bilbo came rushing up, all prepared to lecture her about being late for second breakfast, and didn’t she know she had to eat properly or she could fall ill and die? However, the sight of the dwarf behind her drew him up short, and he was left at a total loss for words. “Bilbo... um... could you please set an extra plate for second breakfast? This is... actually, I didn’t get his name, but he will be here to stay for a while. If that’s ok that is! But please let him stay! I will explain everything, I just...” she trailed off at the incredulous look on the young hobbit’s face.

            Although Bilbo was very tempted to begin questioning her immediately, the physical condition of the dwarf was enough to make him wait. “Of course, Mena. Why don’t you show your... guest, to the bathroom so he can get cleaned up? I will look after the food.” Nodding gratefully, Mena led the silent dwarf to the bathroom.

            She glanced at the already full bathtub that always awaited her after a run, and silently thanked Bilbo in her head for the kindness. “Well, here it is I guess. Go ahead and take as long as you need.” Then she glanced down and remembered the chains. “Oh!” she exclaimed, making the dwarf jump slightly. She pushed him to sit down, and quickly left the room, leaving the bemused dwarf sitting awkwardly in the chair beside the tub.

            Hurrying back into the room with the lock-pick set in hand, she quickly knelt before the dwarf and took one of his feet, not noticing the incredulous look on his face. Making quick work of the first lock, she eased the manacle off his ankle, hissing at the sight of the bloodied and abused skin beneath. “However were you walking in this condition? You must have been in constant pain!” She glanced up at him, only to freeze at the look on his face. “What’s wrong?”

            He gave her an unreadable look, then replied in a hoarse voice, “Nothing, mistress.” At this, Mena narrowed her eyes, but decided to wait until he was in better condition to argue with him. Moving to his other foot, she quickly had that freed as well, then held out her hand for his wrist. He hesitantly gave it to her, and she released both of his wrists from their bonds swiftly.

            “All right, looks like you are good to go. Go ahead and get cleaned up, and take as long as you need. Breakfast can wait, Mr. ...? I am sorry, I have yet to learn your name.”

            Another immeasurable glance, then he replied bitterly, “I have no name, mistress, I am only a slave.” She glared at that, and stalked toward him, causing him to draw back slightly. “Don’t you ever say that!” she exclaimed, allowing her rage to take over momentarily. “You are not a slave! Slavery is wrong, and it should be banned! I know I participated in this horrible trade, but I wished to help you. And please, do not call me mistress. You are not my slave. My name is Mena. Will you please tell me yours?” She backed up a bit, once again in control, and waited curiously for his response.

            The dwarf shot Mena another unreadable glance, then replied so softly she almost missed it. “Frerin. My name is Frerin.”


	3. Decisions

As she walked the short distance back to the kitchen where the sounds of Bilbo cooking were clearly heard, Mena wondered what she could do with Frerin now. Perhaps he had family, a home he could return to? She would have to find out soon, and see if there was anything she could do to aid him. Of course, all thoughts of helping the dwarf were driven from her mind, when she was pounced on by a very confused hobbit.

            “What were you thinking Mena?‼ A slave? How could you even think that this would be acceptable in any way? What do you think you are going to do with him?”

            Flinching at the near verbal attack, Mena hesitated. “I just... I just wanted to help him, Bilbo. He was hurt, and they were starving him, and you should have seen his eyes! It’s clear he has been through unspeakable horrors, but his eyes still had a spark of life. I wanted, I _needed_ , to help him. Please, can he stay here? I want to help him find his home or family, if he has one, or give him a new home if he doesn’t. I _never_ intended to keep him as a slave, nor would I ever keep any sentient being against their will. Please, please Bilbo?”

            Bilbo sighed, wondering where the girl had learned to master that begging puppy-eyes look. “I suppose he can stay, my friend. I just wish you would be careful. If he chooses to lash out, I can do little to protect you, and he has a look of fire in his eyes. It may not be safe for you and I with him here. However, if you will be very careful, and give him no reason to harm you, he is welcome to stay as long as _he_ wishes.”

            Mena grinned, and nodded vigorously before tackling the hobbit in a tight hug that literally lifted him off of his feet. They both ended up landing on the floor, laughing and out of breath. Getting to his feet, Bilbo offered Mena a hand up, and they both headed to the kitchen to finish preparations on second, or in Mena’s case, first breakfast.

 

* * *

 

 

A short time later, Bilbo’s sizable table was full to bursting with all kinds of breakfast foods imaginable. The two friends sat talking quietly, waiting for their guest to finish cleaning up.

            “So where do you suppose he hails from, Bilbo? I really don’t know much about dwarves. There was a kingdom in the Lonely Mountain, and another in the Iron Hills, right? Do you think he could be from Moria?” Bilbo shook his head slightly, confusion in his eyes. “It wouldn’t be Moria, King Thror tried to retake it many years ago, but he and his son Thrain lost their lives. Beyond that, I honestly have no idea where this dwarrow is from. He could be from anywhere I suppose, although you would think his kin would have attempted to recover him from those slavers.”

            Mena furrowed her brow thoughtfully, wondering who could have willingly let a member of their family suffer such a fate. “Perhaps they perished?” she suggested quietly, thinking of her late father. “It would stand to reason that any kin or relation of his would have gladly ransomed or rescued him- if they were able.

That could also explain the despair in his eyes. Think about it, Bilbo. If you were sold as a slave, it would be extremely difficult, but if you knew your family were alive and safe somewhere, and simply unable to help you, you would still have hope. You would know that those you love are safe, and that would be enough to keep you going.”

They both lapsed into silence once again, thinking about what could have happened to the poor dwarf currently in the bathroom. Bilbo finally spoke once more, “Well, perhaps I should eat now. I know it is impolite, but I promised young farmer Maggot that I would stop by later today to help him picking mushrooms.” Mena laughed at that, having long since learned of the zealous love for mushrooms shared by all hobbits.

Bilbo ate quickly, clearly eager to get to farmer Maggot’s home, and smiled apologetically at Mena as he hurried to leave. “Oh!” he cried suddenly, remembering their guest. “I didn’t think... Will you be alright here, by yourself with him?”

Mena nodded quickly and waved him along to keep moving out the door. “I will be fine! We will just have breakfast, and then I will see if our guest is willing to speak with me regarding his past. If not, I will show him to a guest room where he can rest and heal. Hopefully he can recover his strength quickly. We still have several healing salves in the third guest room that I can use on his wounds if he will permit me. You go along and enjoy your time with farmer Maggot. And the mushrooms of course.” She added the last with a cheeky grin, at which Bilbo shook his head but smirked at as well, and then headed on his way.

            Mena waved until her friend closed the door behind him, and then sighed somewhat worriedly. She had no concerns for her safety, she was no stranger to dangerous situations, but she was concerned about her dwarf. What if he was unwilling to trust her to help him heal? Some of the wounds she could see beneath the dirt and rags covering the dwarf had looked to be infected, and could become fatal if left unattended. Steeling herself, she collected some clothes that she hoped would fit Frerin for now, and headed to the bathroom.


	4. Fallen Prince

Frerin had never been so confused in his life. He had felt terror, rage, helplessness, and betrayal throughout his time as a slave, but never had he felt so bemused. When he had seen the young human woman in the fields, he had thought nothing of her until she caught his eyes with her own. While her face betrayed nothing, he could read a turmoil of emotions roiling behind her gray-blue eyes. When the master called out to her, he could see her hesitate, looking toward him even as she reluctantly consented to look at the slaves for sale.

            When she purchased him, he felt mildly confused, for the clothes she wore did not seem to be fine enough for the wealth she was so casually displaying. However, after a moment of study he could tell from the slight difference in size that they were fake. He held his breath, hoping the slavers did not realize it, and then was distracted when his chains were tugged harshly and he stumbled forward toward the girl.

            As his new mistress set a swift pace to the north, Frerin wondered where she could live. What would a young human girl be doing out in the middle of nowhere by herself? Surely there should be someone to escort her? He contemplated overpowering her and escaping, but found himself deciding against it. His body, already severely weakened by the beatings he had endured, was further damaged from the slow-starvation the slavers had inflicted on all their victims. His feet and hands were bound with sturdy chains, and he knew that even if he did ‘escape’, he would be unable to get very far.

            He found himself stumbling several times, pushing his body to its already strained limits to try to keep up with his mistress. Having no desire to try her anger so soon, he knew he could not withstand much more abuse. After the third time however, she finally seemed to notice, and turned to him. He flinched slightly, waiting for a blow or harsh words, but found an almost (apologetic?) smile. She actually apologized to him-a slave!

            Frerin felt very curious, but was willing to remain silent, grateful for the easier pace. Shortly afterwards, the two were in a place of gentle rolling hills and little rivers. There were several strange creatures around, Frerin had read somewhere of creatures called ‘hobbits’ very like these, and he looked at them furtively from lowered eyes. Many of the hobbits called out greetings to his mistress, who returned them cheerfully by name.

            Did she live here? He could see no men anywhere around. Why would a human girl be living amongst these hobbits. The town of Bree was somewhere nearby, he knew, but that had both men and hobbits living there. His mistress led the way up to a round green door in a very large hill, and led the way inside.

            Upon entering his mistress’ home, they were immediately greeted by yet another hobbit, who his mistress called ‘Bilbo’. He could see the surprise in Bilbo at the sight of him, as well as some fear. Surely the hobbit did not think Frerin would be able to harm him? He was bound and weak, and the hobbit would be easily able to avoid him should he try to attack.

            Listening to their conversation even as he took in his surroundings, he realized that this home belonged to Bilbo, and Mena was a permanent resident. As they continued to talk, he edged away slightly, wondering what they could possibly want with him. He had seen no other slaves on the way here, and it was clear from the set up of the house that the residents took care of themselves. What could Mena possibly want with something like him?

            His thoughts were interrupted by his mistress taking him into a bathroom and telling him to take a bath. Instantly on guard, he wondered what kind of test this was. Slaves were not allowed to bathe indoors, and certainly not in the master’s own bathroom. What should he do? His dilemma was temporarily forgotten as he was pushed into a chair. As he flinched and waited for a strike, he glanced up and saw the back of the girl as she rushed out the door.

            Bewildered, he waited for merely seconds before she came rushing back in, only to kneel on the floor at his feet! He instantly wanted to protest, but before the words could come out she had taken hold of his ankle and was working at the lock on the manacles. Would he be released from his bonds? Why should they trust him? He had to hold back a moan of relief as the metal was finally removed from the abused skin, and he wondered at the angry hiss Mena let out on seeing his wounded ankle. Perhaps she was queasy at the sight of blood.

            Her question threw him off even more. “However were you walking in this condition? You must have been in constant pain!” He simply stared at her, forgetting his place in his shock. Of course he was in constant pain! He had been in constant pain since the long distant battle at Azanulbizar, when his family had left him behind. Surely minor abrasions on his ankles were as nothing! She glanced up then, and froze when she saw him looking directly at her. He quickly dropped his gaze, hoping she was not angry, and replied to her query as of to what was wrong with a soft, “Nothing, mistress.”

            She seemed angered at his response, and he found himself tensing once again, wondering what he had said wrong. It seemed she had decided to ignore his offence for now, and quickly reached for his other foot.

            If she was uneasy, she certainly did not show it again as she quickly divested him of the other half of the binding on his feet. Then, still kneeling, she held up one of her hands and looked at him expectantly. Hesitantly, he cautiously held out his bound wrists, hoping this was what she wanted. She did not seem displeased, merely smiling at him and then removing the bonds from his hands as well.

            The pain was severe, but being now freed from his bonds he felt a small spark of hope in his chest. His new mistress did not seem to be the cruel type. Perhaps if he made no mistakes and served well, he would not be beaten to this point of weakness again. When she began to speak again, he missed the first half of what she said, but then she asked for his name.

            He could not help it, he was so angry and lost he answered with the first thing that came to mind. “I have no name, mistress, I am only a slave.” Her reaction to that was explosive. She shot up and began to yell, and he recoiled, surely he had pushed too far and now would be punished. Then he caught the gist of what she was saying. Not a slave? That would be laughable if it weren’t so harsh. He was wrong. His new mistress was cruel. She thought to taunt him with false promises of freedom and safety. Mahal, what had he done to deserve this?‼

            She told him her name, Mena, which he already knew from her conversation with Bilbo, and then once again asked for his. Knowing he would be foolish to try her patience again, Frerin took a deep breath and then looked directly at her. “Frerin. My name is Frerin.”


	5. Dark Memories

When he had told her his name, Mena had beamed as though he had just handed her the Arkenstone itself and then departed. He glanced around the bathroom once more. “These people are strange.” he muttered softly to himself in Khuzdul, eyes drawn to the steaming bath once again. Well, if he had the chance to bathe, he would not waste it, even if this was some strange test for him. He had been ordered to get clean, so he would get clean.

            As he quickly stripped off his filthy rags, he groaned slightly at the pain in his back, legs, and ankles. The floggings had left deep stripes down his back, and the forced marching hadn’t done his weakened legs any favors. Add in the sharp shooting pain from the chafing of the manacles and he was officially miserable. He climbed into the tub, then sank into the hot water with a barely muffled moan of sheer bliss.

            The water soothed his muscles, and he could feel the knots begin to unwind as he lay back and enjoyed the sensation. As he relaxed slightly, he suddenly heard a shout from the other room and tensed up again. That had sounded like the hobbit, Bilbo. Why was he shouting at Mena? Frerin rose, beginning to depart from the tub, when he heard a reply from the girl that seemed to soothe the hobbit. Sinking back into the water, Frerin decided it was no concern of his, at least for now.

            As he scrubbed himself clean with a brush that had been sitting nearby, he wondered what his place would be here. There was no possible way Mena had been serious when she said he would be freed. However, in no other way had she behaved like any of the other slave owners he had come across in his time. She had gone so far as to kneel on the floor just to release the bonds from his feet! In truth, Frerin didn’t know what to think of this strange human girl who lived amongst hobbits and traveled great distances alone.

            As he began to wash his once again golden hair, he allowed his mind to wander to his last days as a free dwarf, and a prince no less. He recalled very little of the fateful battle, only the aftermath, but he could vividly remember his brother’s piercing blue eyes as he screamed out a battle cry at Frerin’s side. After that, there was only the kill. The rush of orcs, and the thrill of fighting for his life. He cut down his enemies without fear, one after another, until the sword that came too fast to block, and he felt a piercing pain in his stomach. He vaguely remembered Thorin’s voice shouting something, and then darkness.

            When he had awoken, his armor and weapons were gone, and he was bound upon the ground in a clearing in a forest. A small, cowardly party of orcs had found his body upon the battlefield and dragged him away, choosing to flee with their prize. They had been close to eating him, when a caravan of slavers had come upon the clearing and attacked. The orcs were all slain, and Frerin was nursed back to health, only to be sold as slave as soon as he could stand.

            The next several years, (or was it decades?) had been a haze of different masters, each dissatisfied with their unruly slave and determined to beat his insubordination out of him. He had become weaker and weaker, and was near to giving in when his last master had finally sold him to the traders that had been traveling up north and sold him to Mena. He could only assume that his family thought him dead, although he couldn’t help but feel betrayed nonetheless. If only they had searched longer, maybe they could have found him.

            Shaking his head to dispel the memories of his sorrowful past, he realized he had been in here for far longer than would be advisable. Rising, he wrapped a towel that had been hanging from a bar around his waist and got out of the tub. He wrung out his long hair, and braided it back in a simple warrior’s braid. He no longer had the honor of a warrior, let alone a prince, but he felt a small piece of himself come back when he had _some_ sign of his past with him.

            He rolled his shoulders back, took a deep breath, and prepared to leave the room and find out what his mistress wished for him to do now, and walked up to the door, only to collide with the figure hurrying in at the same time.

            Being a dwarf, albeit a very malnourished and wounded one, Frerin was naturally steady on his feet, so he didn’t move an inch. Mena, on the other hand, had been moving very quickly as she didn’t want to lose her nerve to speak with him, and upon crashing into the dwarf at this velocity, was sent flying back several paces and landed on her rear with a startled, “Oomph!”


	6. Repairs

Frerin and Mena stared at each other in shock for a moment, before they both began to move swiftly at the same time. Mena rose to her feet, and was about to speak when she saw the dwarf’s actions and froze in place. Frerin, upon realizing that he had collided with his mistress, had no doubt that he would be blamed, and punished for humiliating her so. He hit his knees, bowing low and waiting for the penalty.

They remained as they were for a moment, Mena in shock, and Frerin waiting. As the dwarf didn’t appear to be moving any time soon, Mena took a tiny step forward, and asked hesitantly, “Frerin? Are you hurt?” The dwarf looked up at her in astonishment for a moment before dropping his gaze once again. “I am well, mistress. I apologize for any harm done to you...” he trailed off, hoping the girl would be swift in her vengeance. Somehow, the anticipation of punishment always seemed nearly as bad as the actual thing.

What he was not prepared for, however, was the gasp of dismay from Mena at his words. Mena choked back tears at the defeat and resignation in the dwarf’s words and upon his face. She realized that he had not believed her earlier words regarding his freedom, and even now believed himself to still be a slave. Having the opportunity to observe his now dirt-free face and golden mane, she wondered who he had been before his time as a slave. He had an air of nobility about him, even now in these circumstances.

Clenching her fists in resolve, she stepped a bit closer, noting the minute flinch and tensing in Frerin’s shoulders. “Frerin” she said very gently. “Please, get up.” He obeyed, although his head remained bowed. “Follow me, please.” Mena led the way down the hallway to a spare bedroom near her own, holding open the door and motioning the golden-haired dwarf through. He cautiously walked into the room, apprehension making him skittish. The dwarf glanced around the innocent-looking bedroom curiously, awaiting Mena’s next move.

She left the door open, hoping to keep Frerin from feeling trapped. Mena handed the dwarf a pair of trousers and smallclothes, and then turned her back to give him some privacy to get dressed. The damp towel that had protected his modesty after his bath was placed carefully on the floor, and the dwarf quickly put on the garments. Hearing the motions behind her cease, Mena turned back around and smiled encouragingly.

Frerin felt some of his fears leaving, although he still remained slightly apprehensive. After all, years of abuse and pain are not easily forgotten. Looking at Mena, however, Frerin wondered if perhaps this young human was different than the others of her kind who had done unspeakable things to him.

“Take a seat on the bed, please.” Frerin did so quickly, although he couldn’t help tensing up again as the girl knelt behind him on the bed and placed a gentle hand on his shoulder. “I know that many of my race have harmed you grievously in the past, Frerin, but I swear I will never do you intentional harm. If ever I do, speak up and hold me accountable, please. You are not my slave. Do you understand? You are free.” Frerin nodded shakily, trying to process that she had been telling the truth earlier. Could he really be free? It just seemed too good to be true. “Thank you, mist- my lady.”

Mena chuckled quietly at that, and gently requested, “Please, call me Mena. I am certainly no lady.” Frerin turned slightly to give her a measuring look, then nodded. “Mena it is then.” They lapsed into a comfortable silence after this, both caught up in their thoughts.

As they had been speaking, Mena had taken the healing supplies she had with her, and was gently tending to the wounds on Frerin’s back. She worked quickly, but efficiently, and tried very hard to cause him no further pain. Binding the sterilized and medicine-covered wounds, she got off the bed and came around to kneel before him once more.

Gently taking his feet, she worked the cool healing salve into the sores around his ankles from the manacles. She then repeated her actions from earlier, holding out one of her hands, palm up, waiting for Frerin to give her his wrist. After he acquiesced, she carefully bandaged the wounds of his wrists as well.

When she was certain that the worst of his injuries were clean and bound, she rose and offered another grin, which was actually returned this time. “I thank you, Mena. Indeed, in this past hour you have shown me more kindness than I have seen in the last five years of my life.” Her smile faded at this, and she looked troubled before responding. “Truly, Frerin, I only did what any _decent_ person should have done. There is no need to thank me, my friend.”

The last two words slipped out before she could stop them, and she froze for a moment, wondering if she had caused offence by calling him such when she had no right to do so. However, Frerin saw the concern on her face, and grinned once again. “If you say so, _my friend_.”

Mena looked up quickly, happy she had not angered him, and received a cheerful wink for her trouble. It appeared that now that the dwarf was safe, his inherent good nature was returning. Judging by the almost mischievous glint in his eyes, Mena guessed that he had been quite a rascal before his capture, an assumption only confirmed when he grinned roguishly and asked, “Now lass, I believe a while ago you mentioned something about breakfast?”


	7. Nightmares

Breakfast was by far the most cheerful time Bag End had seen since Mena had first arrived with Frerin. The dwarf appeared far more at ease and relaxed now that he felt safe, and knew that he was free. Mena was delighted at his cheerfulness, but didn’t fail to notice the nearly hidden shadows in his eyes. She wanted to ask, but realized it was most likely memories of his past that haunted him, and she felt that she had no right to pry into his personal affairs. She remained open and friendly, giving Frerin the opportunity to speak of whatever he wished, but not pressuring him to give information he was not ready to divulge yet.

For his part, Frerin found his thoughts wandering to his long-lost family, and wondered if Thorin and Dis had survived the battle. He had a vague recollection of his grandfather’s head rolling, but Frerin was unsure if perhaps that was only in his mind. Shaking his head to rid himself of these unwelcome thoughts, he returned his attention to his hostess.

They spoke of the weather, and of insignificant details regarding the shire and Mr. Bilbo Baggins. As they continued to converse, Frerin relaxed to the point where he felt confident enough to question Mena on a matter a bit more personal. “If you don’t mind my asking, lass, what is a human girl doing living amongst all these Halflings? Have you no family elsewhere?”

Mena got a reminiscent and slightly guilty look in her eyes as she thought of her sisters. It had been many weeks since she had last been in contact with them, and it would most likely be several more before she would convince herself to sit still long enough to actually write a letter. Being assured of their safety within the mighty walls of the White City had made her complacent in her communications with them. “Aye, Frerin. I have three sisters living in Minas Tirith with my aunt. My father passed away some time ago, and circumstances dictated that my sisters and I leave our home a few months past.”

“What circumstances might those be?” Frerin asked curiously, wondering what could have happened. It was clear Mena was very fond of her sisters, and he couldn’t imagine what would cause her to be separated from them for such a long time. It woke an answering spark of homesickness in his own heart as well, thinking of his siblings.

“Orcs.” Mena said simply, noticing the way Frerin’s eyes shot to hers in surprise. Whatever answer he had been expecting, it was not that. “There was a relatively small raiding party, only around ten, who came upon our farm and decided we were easy prey. I distracted them long enough for the others to escape, and then ran north. Bilbo has always been a good friend of my family, and generously allowed me to stay. He is like a dear brother to me, which is very fortunate, as I miss my sisters quite often.”

She went on to explain about the living conditions with her adopted father’s sister, and how there was no room or food enough for another person in the home. Mena smiled at the interested look in the dwarf’s eyes, glad that her story had distracted him from his dismal thoughts, however temporary it may be.

They finished eating in a companionable silence after that, and then Mena escorted Frerin back to the same guest bedroom as before. “If you would like, you can certainly rest now. I have some work I need to catch up on, so I will be rather busy for a few hours, and Bilbo most likely won’t be back until just before nightfall. Hobbits and their mushrooms, I swear!...” she trailed off at the amusements glinting in the dwarf’s gaze as she ranted, and she hurried to finish what she had originally meant. “Uh- anyway, I just thought that perhaps some rest would do you good, and help your wounds heal faster. If you don’t want to, that’s fine. You may do whatever you wish, I didn’t mean to imply-”

Here Frerin cut her off, taking pity on the somewhat flustered girl. “Thank you, lass. I would indeed cherish the chance to sleep for a time. Is this room acceptable?” Mena nodded quickly and replied, “Yes, Frerin, this is just an extra guest bedroom. I’m sure Bilbo won’t care which room you pick. If you want a different one, by all means please go ahead and use whatever you like.”

He smiled cheerfully and shook his head. “This is just fine. I hope your work goes well, Mena.” She grinned in response and bowed slightly before leaving the dwarf to his rest.

* * *

 

Several hours later, Mena straightened and stretched, her muscles protesting loudly after having been in the same forced position for so long. She had been adding minute details to her greatly reduced cache of counterfeit coins so as to make them appear yet more realistic. That this was rather redundant did not escape her notice, but it gave her something to do with her free time.

There were very few opportunities to use the false currency, as she would only cheat those who deserved it. She had given Bilbo her word to never try to use them against a hobbit on the first day he had caught her crafting the coins, and she had given him her word. To her great regret. It was most unfortunate that she had so sworn before she had the honor of making the acquaintance of the Sackville-Baggins folk. It would have been the height of achievement for her to have so deceived the snooty and self-righteous Lobelia and Otho.

A quick glance out the window of her little work-room showed the sun hanging low in the west, and she realized that it would soon be dinner time. Carefully cleaning up and placing her tools back where they belonged, she went to check on Frerin.

 

* * *

 

_Blood. Pain. Fear. Thorin was yelling indistinctly in the background, telling him to stand strong, and put the fear of Mahal into the scum who dared stand against the line of Durin! Then wave after wave of goblins and wargs were upon them, and Frerin was fighting desperately for his life, and there was bright flashes of pain, then darkness._

Frerin’s eyes shot open and he gazed into the frightened eyes of Mena’s as she clawed desperately at his hands restricting her breath. He immediately released her, and she collapsed to the ground gasping for breath. “Nightmares?” she rasped, as soon as she could speak clearly.

He nodded numbly, even as he was flooded with horror at having choked her. He backed up several paces, hands out in a placating manner. When Mena rose to her feet, he retreated even further, trying to give her space. She quickly stepped toward him, taking one of his hands and giving him a reassuring grin. “It’s alright Frerin. My ada often had nightmares of his time fighting orcs as a ranger, and it would take him a bit to fully wake up as well.” The dwarf didn’t look convinced, so she tilted her head back to bare her throat. “Look. It is barely bruised, there is no lasting damage done.”

She felt Frerin’s fingertips gently brush against the darkening ring of bruises around her neck, then she looked back at him. “I’m- I am so sorry lass.” She nodded, and then briskly said, “Now speak no more of it. ‘Twas an accident, and no harm was meant by it. I came to wake you, and let you know that it is dinner time, and Bilbo will be back soon. Do you feel up to a meal with us?”

He nodded gratefully, and they both headed to the kitchen together. Shortly after they had begun to arrange dinner, they could hear Bilbo coming up the path humming a familiar tune. He came in, quickly added a generous amount of mushrooms to the stew that was cooking, and greeted Frerin like a brother. The three enjoyed a cheerful meal, and the incident was forgotten. All was well in Bag End.


	8. The Choice

Three months later, Frerin had found himself settled peacefully into Bag End, viewing Mena and Bilbo as a sort of temporary family. He enjoyed the quiet peace of the shire, and the atmosphere allowed him to heal swiftly, both mentally and physically. Occasionally, nightmares would still torment his sleep, but they became fewer and farther between. Frerin knew that they would most likely never leave completely, but he was glad that the affects upon him were lessening every day.

            As much as he enjoyed the time spent in this little land, his heart yearned for the mountains and his family. Erebor was in his blood, and he could not so easily forget his ancestral home. He found himself greatly missing Thorin and Dis, even more so now than he had during his time as a slave, when it was safer to not think of his home or family, but only on what the master or mistress desired. Now, with all of this free time on his hands, he yearned more than ever to be home.

            Mena and Bilbo had made every effort to help him feel comfortable and accepted here, and it was greatly appreciated, but while Bag End was a wonderful place to be, it wasn’t Erebor. It wasn’t home. His heart longed for the mountains of his childhood, and he knew that it wouldn’t be long before the yearning overtook his gratitude for rescue. Now that he had his health and strength back, Frerin knew that it was time to take his leave.

He only hoped that his hosts would not take the news badly. He knew that they had both grown very fond of him, and he would miss them just as much. They were the first of any race he had come across in his time as a slave to show kindness to him, and he knew he would be grateful forever, regardless of their protests that it was something any _decent_ person would have done.

Thus was the noble dwarf prince pacing like a dwarfling that had stolen sweets from his amad. Undignified or no, his nerves were highly strung, and he felt old insecurities creeping back in. What if they did not wish him to leave? What if Mena decided to change her mind and try to keep him here against his will? Logically, he knew it wouldn’t happen, but he wasn’t thinking entirely logically at the time.

Mena strolled out the door of the little library laughing at something Bilbo had just said, and for the second time in her life, she collided with the dwarf and found herself on the ground a second later. Unlike the previous occurrence, however, this time the two took one look at each other and burst into laughter. They couldn’t help but be amused, the déjà vu of the moment was just too priceless. Remembering the reason he was there, however, sobered Frerin quickly.

He offered her a hand up, which she gratefully accepted, then grinned cheerfully at her friend. “What are you up to this fine morning Frerin? Causing more mischief?” As the dwarf had regained his health, so had he also reacquired a sense of mischief and humor, pulling frequent pranks upon any who wandered across his path. Bilbo and Mena were most often on the receiving end, although many other inhabitants of Hobbiton had also been targeted.

The dwarf shook his head gravely and requested, “Mena, I would like to speak with you and Bilbo on a matter that is very important to me.” Hearing his tone of voice, Mena instantly sobered and nodded solemnly. The two walked back through the door Mena had just left, and Bilbo looked up from his book with a smile.

            Mena took a seat next to him, leaving a comfortable armchair nearby for Frerin. The dwarf took a deep breath, and then began his explanation. He told them a little bit of his life before slavery, omitting the detail of his royal lineage, and then described the fateful battle that had lead to his capture and enslavement. Several times throughout his story, Mena gasped slightly, and both she and the hobbit looked as though they wanted to interrupt very much, but at his behest they remained silent.

            Somewhat nervously finishing his tale with heartfelt gratitude to both of them for their kindness and hospitality, he gathered his courage and finally told them the reason for this little meeting. “While I in no way wish to insult your kindness, it is the desire of my heart to go to my true home. You have both given me a great deal, and I would repay you. In Erebor, I have the resources to reward you both quite handsomely for everything you have done for me, but I really need to go home. I hope neither of you take offence at this, but I greatly miss my blood family.”

            Frerin clenched his fists, wishing he were more eloquent, but hoping he had gotten his point across. Unfortunately, it was at that moment that Mena leapt to her feet, rage emanating from her entire body. “Frerin! You impossible, stubborn, rock-headed, _dwarf!_ ” she all but spat out, making the exiled prince waver between chuckling at her attempts at insults, or flinching from her apparent rage. “Why on middle earth would you think we would want any sort of reward for helping you?” Mena spat out ‘reward’ as though it were a curse. “You are a dear friend, and we would _never_ be dishonorable enough to think to ask you for gold or gems in repayment for doing the right thing!”

            The dwarf relaxed then, although he continued to listen, knowing she was far from done. He now realized that her rage was not that he was leaving, but that he had wrongly assumed they would want repayment for their kindness. After ranting on a bit more about how he should know better than to think they would want anything besides his happiness, Mena was beginning to calm slightly, her fits of temper few and far between, and usually rather short-lived when she did give in.

            “I’m sorry for yelling, I just never thought you would assume that either of us expected repayment of some kind.” Bilbo nodded his fervent agreement, although the hobbit seemed content to let Mena speak for both of them at the time. “I believe I speak for both Bilbo and I when I say we are very sorry for your losses at Azanulbizar, and I dearly hope that your brother and sister are yet living. It seems the only logical thing to do would be for you to go back home to Erebor, and yet, I’m afraid I can’t let you do that.”

            Frerin felt his heart sink, and he wondered whether he should try to convince her otherwise or if he would be forced to sneak away in the night like a common criminal. “You can’t?” he queried softly, awaiting her next words anxiously.

            “No.” she said crisply, sounded completely assured of herself, and beginning to show a mischievous grin that she had learned from the dwarf himself. “You most certainly will not be going all the way back to Erebor by yourself. That is why I’m coming with you.”


	9. A Journey Begins

In retrospect, Frerin really wasn’t able to understand what he had been thinking when he had tried to argue with Mena about her joining him. Forget the stubbornness of dwarves, what the people of middle earth should truly fear is the stubbornness of a determined woman, be she of any race. Granted, that was most likely true regarding females of any race, so the dwarf decided to count his losses after several hours of fruitless arguing. Mena was immovable. Her friend would not be sent on his way home by himself.

            For her part, Mena was quite content to leave within the week, so long as they packed sufficient supplies and were both prepared for the time such a journey would take. She was in and out of Bag End countless times over the next several days, gathering non-perishable foods and sturdy water skins. The human and dwarf planned to travel by foot to the village of Bree, and from there purchase a pony and a horse to travel the distance between the town and Rivendell.

            Frerin was initially against stopping at the Last Homely House, but Mena was able to convince him that it would be wise. Frerin may not have shared the extremely intense dislike of elves that his brother, and most of his people, had, but that did not mean he went out of his way to spend time with them. Nonetheless, he consented to planning a short stop to rest and resupply at the home of Lord Elrond, before continuing on their way.

            Bilbo was very supportive of the plan, although he begged Mena to be cautious and not deliberately throw herself into harm’s way. He was outwardly very happy for Frerin to be able to get home, and for Mena to go on an adventure, but when he didn’t believe either was looking, it was clear that the hobbit was very worried. Mena was only twenty, after all, and while that may have been the human equivalent to a hobbit’s fifty, she was still only just of age.

            Although she was a woman, and in most places human women were kept sheltered, protected by men and escorted anywhere that could be considered dangerous, Mena had never been one for tradition. Her father knew well the evils of the world, and that there wouldn’t always be a man around to protect his adopted daughters. He had tried to teach his other daughters some basic pressure points and moves of self-defense, but none of them had taken to it quite like Mena.

Amy had shown potential, but she had still been very young when the ranger had passed on, and Mena had little time to continue her sister’s training. Mena, however, had soaked up all the instruction and training the experienced ranger had to offer. The results were what had led to her being able to distract and hold off a small band of orcs single-handedly as her sisters reached safety, and now she would again rely upon her abilities to protect her as she traveled with Frerin.

The dwarf didn’t see anything wrong with Mena’s gender, dwarves in general not differentiating in how they treated their peers regardless of gender, unlike the race of men. It was her young age that gave him pause, even as it did Bilbo, for by the standards of both their cultures she was only a child. Even by the standards of men, she was barely of age, and thereby Frerin knew he would feel personally responsible should anything harm her on their travels. However, over the week of preparations, both the dwarf and the hobbit came around to the idea, even if neither exactly approved. It wasn’t as though Mena was letting either have a say in the matter, after all.

The morning of their departure, Mena was up with the sun, hurrying to pack a few last minute items such as a comb and an extra travel cloak. She also took a small package of dried herbs that would cause a female bodily process to cease for several months when taken in the evening once a week. Mena had no wish to deal with _that_ whilst on an adventure!

Frerin was also awake very early, excited and anxious to be on his way. Soon, so soon he would be home! He could see Thorin and Dis again, and Fili and Kili as well! He hoped his sister-sons were both yet alive and in good health. Well did the prince remember seeing his own mischievous nature mirrored in his nephews, and he could also recall his sister’s ire whenever he would help them to pull off a larger-scale prank! _Soon I shall be with my family_...

 

* * *

 

 

The travel from Hobbiton to Bree was peaceful and uneventful, allowing the companions to begin adjusting to life on the road without strain. After they arrived at Bree, they spent the night at the inn of the Prancing Pony, where a kindly man with a heavily pregnant wife offered them a room at a very reasonable price.

When Mena curiously asks what they plan to name the babe, the good lady replied, “If it be a lass, then Rose will be her name. And if a lad...” she trailed off, then resumed with a smile. “If it be a son, then I would name him Barliman after my father. Young Barliman Butterbur.” Mena smiled, and wished her a swift and safe delivery, then she and Frerin found their room.

Normally, it would be a bit awkward for a young unwed female to be sharing a room with an unwed male, especially of another race, but Mena and Frerin were not uncomfortable. Many nights around the campfire had led to them being used to the proximity of each other, and Mena trusted the dwarf fully to not try anything at all against her. Frerin insisted that Mena take the small bed, choosing to sleep on the floor near the door in a guard position instead, regardless of her protests that it was unnecessary.

The next morning, they were able to find suitable equine mounts, and paid with a few gold coins that Bilbo had given them for just such a purpose. Mena had initially been tempted to use her fake coins, but Bilbo had talked her out of it, convincing her that these people had done nothing to warrant such treatment. She agreed, and the money they paid was legitimate. Shortly after obtaining the horses, Frerin and Mena left Bree to continue as swiftly as they could.

* * *

 

After that, the distance to Rivendell began to disappear beneath their mounts’ hooves. Frerin was an excellent rider, and Mena a fast learner, so both were able to comfortably keep up a canter for several hours each day. Due to their muscles protesting such treatment, both ended up staggering around for the first couple of days after dismounting until their legs and backs had adjusted. The sturdy little horse and pony were built for endurance, and thrived, even while at such a grueling continuous pace.

The closer they came to the Last Homely House, the more withdrawn and distracted Frerin seemed, and finally when the two camped at an old outpost that Mena recalled her father naming Weathertop, she decided to confront the dwarf about it. As she started a small fire, she watched the dwarf un-tack their mounts in a jerky, very distracted manner.

“Frerin?” she asked uncertainly, hoping he wouldn’t be too upset at her next question. Hearing his name, the prince sighed slightly, allowing the tension to drain from his shoulders. “Aye, lass? What is it?” She rose from her crouch, sitting on the ground and asking the dwarf to sit beside her with a motion of her hand. He acquiesced, glancing at her curiously. “What’s going on Mena?”

The girl pulled her knees up, wrapping her arms around them and resting her chin on her arms, looking to her companion. “I would ask you that very thing my friend. What is it that causes you such distress?” He shook his head slightly, then replied softly. “In truth, I know not. A darkness weighs about my heart, and I know of no tangible reason for it.” She smiled slightly, deciding to risk a jest. “Are you certain that this feeling of darkness has nothing to do with the fact that we draw ever nearer to the home of Lord Elrond?”

Frerin allowed a small grin at that, and gave her a gentle push on the shoulder. “Nay, although I do not look forward to it with any great joy. I fear that this darkness, whatever horror that comes, will occur after we depart Rivendell.” Mena nodded, and said no more, hoping that this was only trepidation on the dwarf’s part about being nearly home again after so long. The rest of the distance to the elven refuge passed in peace. They were welcomed in by none other than the Lord Elrond himself, who offered them his hospitality after learning that Mena’s adopted father had been one of the Dúnedain.


	10. Into the Darkness and Into the Light

While Lord Elrond was nothing but polite and hospitable, offering his guests any aid they requested, Mena and Frerin were both eager to continue on their way. They departed Rivendell after only a week’s respite in the Last Homely House. Within two days’ time, the dwarf and human stood at the base of the Misty Mountains.

Mena knew she was well out of her depth, and asked the dwarf to take the lead for this leg of their journey. They began the long and treacherous climb, and Mena quickly discovered an aversion to mountains and climbing in general. Frerin, on the other hand, seemed to thrive in these conditions, taking to the rocky path with a grin of bliss. Mena knew he must be imagining this to be Erebor when he would finally be home.

By nightfall the two had managed to cover a surprising amount of distance, regardless of Mena’s inexperience, and had made camp in one of many caves along the way. Frerin offered to take the first watch, as it was blaringly obvious that the human was exhausted from the day’s activities. Mena slept well and deeply, and Frerin found his eyes beginning to drift shut on and off, as he struggled to stay alert and on guard. Over an hour later, both human and dwarrow slept soundly.

Naturally, this is when disaster struck. A small fissure began in the ground at the very back of the cave, and quietly crept across the floor, widening as it went. The warrior-trained prince snapped awake at a premonition, and his eyes widened when he saw the floor beginning to fall out from under them. “Mena!” was all he managed to bark out, before the ground gave completely and they both fell into darkness.

 

* * *

 

Darkness and pain were definitely on her list of things to avoid in the future, Mena decided. She felt a pounding in her head, and stirred slightly, trying to get her bearings. The last thing she remembered was being awoken rather suddenly by a shifting of the ground beneath her, and the frightened cry of her name from her companion.

“Frerin...” she murmured, trying to break through the haze surrounding her head. “Be silent lass” came a very soft whisper, and the human relaxed at the familiar voice. Then she tensed again as she heard a strange clanging and yelling of raspy voices. She was suddenly and vividly taken back to the day she lost her childhood home, remembering the chaos and vicious creatures that had attacked her family. “Orcs...” she didn’t realize she had spoken aloud until the dwarven prince responded near-silently “Nay, these foul creatures are goblins. Not the same as orcs, but just as despicable and vicious. Keep silent and still until this group has passed.”

She nodded her agreement and remained as silent as possible. After what seemed like hours, but was likely only minutes, the small pack of creatures that had been nearby had passed. Mena dared to sit up at this point, and she saw that Frerin had dragged her over to a small nook that was well hidden, giving them the chance to remain undetected for the moment.

“What happened?” she whispered, continuing to keep her voice low, knowing that there were likely many more goblin-creatures in these depths. Frerin gave her a crooked grin, looking completely exhausted but rather pleased with himself nonetheless. “Well, after the floor of our cave fell out from beneath us, we fell with it, and the horses were killed. I remained conscious after the impact of the landing, and went over to check on you. It was then that I heard the goblins, and decided against becoming better acquainted with the creatures. This handy little crevice seemed a decent enough place to recuperate briefly. You may thank me for saving your life at your convenience.” His voice, while remaining very quiet, was imbued with good-natured sarcasm at the last line.

Mena smiled slightly in return, grateful that the dwarf was making an effort to distract her from their extremely precarious position. After another minute or so, her head had cleared enough for her to risk standing, and she did so carefully, while Frerin stood nearby to assist should she need it. She swayed slightly, but was able to stay on her feet. She was about to step into the minimal light of the sputtering torch on the wall nearby, when a rough dwarven hand on her arm stopped her.

She turned to Frerin, about to ask what he was doing, when she saw the guarded concern in his eyes as he shook his head frantically and silently. She slid back into the shadows beside him, waiting. His keen eyesight had seen a strange shadow slinking along the wall opposite them, and he knew that whatever creature this was, it was most likely dangerous. Soon enough, a strange, skeletal being with enormous eyes and distorted features came into the light. Mena, upon seeing this _thing_ , couldn’t contain a gasp of dismay and surprise.

Immediately, those wide eyes flicked over to their hiding place, and it seemed the creature could see in the dark, for its eerie gaze locked directly onto Mena, not seeing the dwarf warrior behind her. The creature reached down to its hip, and pulled out something from a seemingly non-existent pocket. Mena caught a glimpse of something golden flash in the minimal lighting, before the creature quite literally disappeared into thin air.

Shocked, the human had only a second before long, slim, cold fingers closed around her throat and began to choke the life out of her. She struggled, gasping for breath, when she saw a flash of golden hair, and then suddenly she could breathe again. The girl fell to her knees, gasping, and looked up, treated to a very strange sight indeed. Frerin stood before her, a stony expression on his face as he held his arms at an odd angle, seeming to be embracing someone invisible. His arms jerked slightly as whatever he held struggled, and his hand closed around something, twisting it up in a practiced move, then all of a sudden the strange creature was visible in his arms.

It fought him, even with its arm twisted up behind his back, until the prince simply struck its temple hard enough to knock it out. The thin creature collapsed in a pile of bones, and did not move again, although its thin chest moved up and down very slightly. Mena struggled to her feet, and staggered over to Frerin, looking down upon the creature in disgust. She saw the same glimpse of gold as before, and glanced at the ground, seeing a small golden ring in the dust beneath the dwarf’s feet.

She quickly knelt, reaching out a hand for the ring, when a strange sensation swept over her. The second she touched the ring, a darkness clouded her mind, strange whisperings offering her power and wealth, whatever her heart desired. The feeling was disturbing, and she quickly dropped the ring into a pocket. Immediately, the whisperings stopped, although there was a residual sense of the darkness lingering, and she knew it would be wise to get rid of this artifact soon. She didn’t dare leave it down here with all the goblin-creatures either though, and decided to just leave it in her pocket and not touch it if she could help it until a better option was presented.

Frerin, meanwhile, had knelt next to the creature, testing its heartbeat and breathing rate. “It will live” he murmured, seeming displeased, but his honor would not allow him to slay a weaponless and unconscious enemy. Mena nodded, not happy, but not wishing to see the creature slain either. She felt a strange sense of pity, unsure where it had come from, but it was enough to willingly leave it be.

“Come” the dwarf said in a low voice, leading the way up another path. They both knew that their best chance of survival was to come out on the other side of the mountain range, out into the daylight, but they had to pass through the depths first. She willingly followed the warrior as he set a swift pace, drifting silently along the stone.

There were many times when small packs of the goblins came very close to discovering the two intruders, but Yavanna, or perhaps Mahal, seemed to be feeling generous, and Frerin and Mena were able to traverse the entirety of the depths of Goblin-Town without detection. Of Goblin-Town itself, as Mena had dubbed (to herself) the main area with the highest concentration of the creatures, they saw very little, in a hurry to get to safety as they were.

On their way past, she caught a glimpse of a hideous, hugely fat critter sitting on a throne of some sorts, but then Frerin was hurrying her along again, and she followed the dwarf. They reached a small hole in the side of the mountain with sunlight streaming in, and both raced out into the light, and safety.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Updates will most likely continue to be sporadic, but I will not give up on this story. Comments and kudos are greatly appreciated!


	11. An Unexpected Meeting... With a Bear

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Bit of a shorter chapter here, sorry. Hopefully the next will be longer!

Mena had never been so glad to feel the sunlight warming her face, or the gentle breeze causing her dark hair to float into disarray. Frerin seemed to be of a similar opinion, given the grin on his face even brighter than the sunlight upon it, although his joy and gratitude was due to their distance from the goblins more so than just being outside of the mountain. He had been born to rock and stone after all.

They were both giddy with relief and exhaustion, and after walking as far as Mena could force her feet, she collapsed upon the grass, content to sleep where she had fallen. She suspected Frerin would have been able to continue for at least another couple of hours, although he was glad enough to rest for the time being. By a feat of unknown strength, Mena dragged herself back up long enough to crawl into a small copse of trees that would provide sufficient shelter, and Frerin followed. They both fell nearly immediately into a healing sleep, deep and dreamless, both willing to risk foregoing a watch that night.

The next week and a half consisted of making their way slowly down to mountain, being hindered by the lack of decent paths to travel, and Frerin’s well meant but horribly thought out jokes. Mena ended up laughing at most of them anyway, but honestly! “ _So then Bilbo says to me, ‘I started walking around without shoes, and it sort of became a hobbit!’ Get it? A hobbit! Like a habit but... yah know.”_ The girl had just chuckled at the foolishness, grateful that Frerin was well enough to jest, however poorly.

After many days of struggle, the two finally reached the more open valley below. Mena was glad to be done with mountains for the time being, although there were still several smaller ones around them until it turned to true fields and forests, but the worst was behind them until Erebor. For his part, Frerin was overjoyed to be that much closer to his home, and hopefully, his family.

Although the loss of their ponies, and thus many of their supplies, was very unfortunate, they both adjusted admirably, not minding much at all, though the dwarf grumbled mildly at the rationing of food that was now necessary. Mena didn’t mind his good-natured complaints at all, knowing that he meant no harm, and would most likely starve himself before allowing her to go hungry.

* * *

 

Nearing dusk of a day when they had finally gotten out of the most mountainous terrain, Mena was strolling along a few paces behind the dwarf, looking at the beautiful flowers in the field they were walking through, when she heard a snapping of branches and something suspiciously like a growl. She whirled around just in time to see a huge, dark, furry creature burst from the brush merely forty yards behind them. Yelling a warning to Frerin, she began to sprint as fast as she could, hoping the legendary short-distance speed of the dwarves was no myth.

It seemed the stories were true, however, as the golden-haired prince easily out-distanced her to begin with, but then she could see him slowing his pace to put himself between the furry monster and Mena. They continued to run, but Frerin refused to leave her, and she wanted to yell at the stubborn dwarf to save himself, but she had no breath to spare.

Thankfully, the strange cabin-like house they had seen from a distance came ever nearer as they ran quite literally for their lives, and when they reached the door, miraculously the bear, for the large furry creature was a bear indeed, was still fifteen yards away, and closing fast.

Frerin reached the door mere moments after Mena, keeping his body between the human and the threat at all times. She slammed into it with the all force of her speed running, then reached up and flipped the handle, allowing the door to swing open. They collapsed into the doorway, slamming it shut behind them and bolting it, before slumping over and gasping for air.

Less than a week later, Mena and Frerin set out once again, more grateful than ever to still be alive after the rather terrifying confrontation with the shape-shifter. They had remained inside the walls for over an hour before a giant of a man had opened the door and literally growled at them both. Mena had somehow been able to convince him to let them live, and even stay for a short time, and Beorn (as they had later learned to be his name) had miraculously consented.

Even to the day they were leaving the shape-shifter’s home, Mena had no idea how she had convinced him, only that she had pleaded humbly and possibly added a few pitiful tears for good measure. Now, re-supplied and refreshed, the human and dwarrow set out yet again, Frerin’s excitement not allowing him to stay and rest at Beorn’s for longer than a few days. Mena was just as excited to see him finally reach home after so many years, and was more than agreeable to get back on the road again.

Unfortunately, while they were now several hundred miles closer to Erebor than they had been at the start, one final horrible hurdle still lay between the dwarf and his home. Their bright moods dissipated, and both Mena and Frerin shuddered slightly and were very reluctant to take on the next challenge. For before them, looming ominously in a terrifying fashion, lay the dark and twisted stretch of Mirkwood.


	12. Unforseen Delays

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I have no sense of time when it comes to updates on my stories, and yet, I am always after authors to update more often so I can read more. *sigh* I'm so hypocritical. Oh well. Have another chapter!

In retrospect, Mena wondered if perhaps she should have seen something like this coming. Frerin certainly seemed unsurprised, if mildly annoyed at the unnecessary delay. The duo found themselves detained by a patrol of elven guards; some of the Greenwood’s finest. It would seem the elves were wary of trespassers in these dark times, with the shadow of the Necromancer covering the forest, and there was yet no love lost between elf-kind and dwarves.

When, on their seventh day of trudging along the winding paths of the dark forest, they had been apprehended by the elven patrol, Frerin’s presence was enough to give them pause. Given the bedraggled and filthy state of the travelers, suspicion was cast that such a strange pair would be wandering in such condition, and so they were arrested on their way.

On the rare occasion that dwarves came into Mirkwood, it was most commonly either a trade delegation passing through, or representatives of the King Under the Mountain to negotiate or re-negotiate some detail or other of the extensive and ever-changing treaty between the kingdoms. Rare indeed was the occasion when a dwarf in such a state could be found within 200 miles of the extremely prosperous Erebor. To outside races, dwarves may seem to be ever greedy and selfish, but King Thorin of the Lonely Mountain was anything but, at least to his people, and those under his protection.

Thus, the poor condition of the two, but most notably Frerin, was enough to cause instant suspicion, and hence were he and Mena detained. Although Mena had had some contact with elves before, most specifically those in and around Rivendell, the inhabitants of Mirkwood had a certain grimness about them that had been absent in Lord Elrond and his folk. Even the mighty Lord Glorfindel had seemed lighter of spirit and fey than these.

The human freely admitted to feeling nervous around them, and she kept her head down and her eyes on the doorway before her, wishing desperately for Frerin’s return. When they had been apprehended, they were taken to what appeared to be a guest room-turned-holding cell, complete with two stony-faced elven guards at the doorway. Lieutenant Túrolas, the leader of the patrol that captured the pair, left them there to make his report to the Elvenking.

In less time than the human expected, the lieutenant returned, commanding Frerin to accompany him to the throne room, to which he had been summoned. Mena rose, with every intention of following the dwarf, but the dark-haired elven lieutenant raised a hand in the gesture for her to ‘stop’, and shook his head solemnly. “The Elvenking wishes to speak with the dwarf alone. If he is dissatisfied with his answers, he may choose to speak with you as well human. For now, you must remain here.”

With that, the solemn elf and mildly concerned dwarf had departed, leaving her alone with only the less than hospitable guards at the door for company. Now, over an hour had passed since their departure, and Mena grew more and more restless, as the silence and worry grated at her nerves. Finally, she rose to her feet, fully intending to demand of her guards that they permit her to speak with their king, recover her friend, and be on their way, when a new elf appeared in the doorway. It was a tall, slender female with red hair, a fierce expression, and dangerous looking armor.

The moment she stepped into the room, the two guards saluted saying, “Captain”, and then disappearing down the hall. Mena took a couple of quick steps back instinctively, unsure of the elven captain’s intentions. The she-elf paused, a brief compassion softening her gaze slightly, and Mena took courage. The young human planted her feet in a decidedly dwarven fashion, and asked boldly, “Where is Frerin? Will we be allowed to depart soon?”

The captain raised a slim eyebrow slightly, and replied, “I know not. Come, you are summoned to the king.” The human crossed her arms defiantly and near-snarled, “I ask again, elf, where is Frerin? Has he been harmed? I refuse to cooperate unless you can guarantee his safety to me. We have broken no laws, yet are treated as criminals.”

Fortunately for the stubbornly brave human, the elf seemed to find this display of belligerence amusing rather than offensive. “Your friend is well, human, and has come to no harm at elven hands. He awaits you in the throne room with our king.” Mena nodded cautiously to this, and followed the elf quietly from the room.

 

* * *

 

 

Mena grinned to herself, while being careful to keep her outward visage a blank mask of indifference. Perhaps she had picked up more from being around Frerin than she had thought, considering the joy she found in subtly harassing elves. It was hardly her fault that she had happened across an old friend while on her way to the throne room, and now the captain (Tauriel by name, she had heard), was standing by trying not to look impatient as Mena conversed with an old friend.

“Sawen? Is that really you?” she asked, pleasantly surprised to see one of her late father’s elven acquaintances in the halls of the Elvenking. The female elf in question smiled brightly upon seeing the human, and then promptly acted shocked and offended, speaking in a deep voice, “Who are you, human, to address me so familiarly? Certainly you bear a resemblance to an edain child I once knew, but Mena was only a little lass.” She then switched back to her normal speaking voice, much lighter and happier. “Mena! How could you have grown up so fast? When I last saw you, you were but a child, happily climbing trees and going on ‘adventures’ with Ismira.”

The human grinned happily at the memories of the elf teaching her how to climb higher than ever before, and stepped forward to embrace her friend. When she pulled back, she was surprised to see tears in Sawen’s dark eyes. “I am truly sorry I was unable to be there when your father fell, penneth nin. He was a noble man.”

“Aye, that he was, mellon nin, and no mistake. I miss him every day, but I take comfort in the fact that my sisters yet live to carry on his memory, as do I.”

“And you do it well Mena! Speaking of your sisters, where are they? And what are you doing so far from Gondor?”

Captain Tauriel stepped forward at that, seeming most concerned that they would be late to the Elvenking, and spoke quickly. “Perhaps the human could bring you up to date at a later time, Sawen. For now, she is summoned to the throne room, and must not delay.”

Sawen’s eyes darkened momentarily, and yet when she spoke, her voice was soft. Mena shivered slightly, knowing that was when the scribe was at her most dangerous. “Perhaps, Captain, I might accompany you and ‘the human’, to ensure that all goes well at this meeting with the king.”

Tauriel nodded, accepting the protectiveness of the other elf with an easy grace, and led the way once more through the beautiful elven halls. They were nearing what had to be the throne room, given the guards standing at attention by the doorway, when a trumpet sounded, loud and clear. The red-haired captain pivoted in an instant, eyes fixed in the direction of the front gates. “Orcs.”


	13. A Hasty Departure

One moment, the human was standing between the two elves, and the next, Tauriel was gone, disappearing down the halls, snapping out orders to her soldiers as she went. Mena could see why the elf was the Captain of the Guard; she certainly seemed calm, cool and collected in a crisis. Sawen turned to her companion and spoke quickly.

“Mena, you must get your friend and leave this place. Thranduil’s troops will no doubt easily remove the orc threat, but this may be the best time for you to depart. While I do not doubt that the Elvenking’s honor would eventually compel him to allow both of you to leave, as things stand, he could easily detain you for some time, under pretence of suspicion of the dwarf being a spy or some nonsense.”

The girl grinned at her friend, “Well, well Sawen, have you been conspiring against the Elvenking? One would think you were not close friends with him...” The elf grimaced in distaste, but nodded in unwilling agreement nonetheless. “I do not agree with his treatment of dwarves. While they are stubborn, this hatred between our races has gotten nearly out of hand. Now, come.”

They continued on to the throne room, but Sawen’s eyes widened slightly and a moment later Mena found herself staring at the expanse of the elf’s back as she stood before her, hidden in an alcove. From behind Sawen, the human caught a glimpse of silver hair flashing by, and she guessed that the Elvenking had emerged from the throne room. A moment later, Sawen pulled her out again, and they stepped fully back into the hall just as Frerin stepped out from the elegant doorway before them, a confused expression upon his visage.

“Shall we be going then?” Mena asked, happily going to the dwarf’s side again, ignoring Sawen’s quiet huff of mild distaste. The elf nodded to the dwarf in acknowledgement, which he was rather startled at, but after a moment, he grinned and bowed slightly. “Frerin, at your service.” Sawen smiled at that, grateful that he would not hold her race against her, and gave a bow of her own. “Sawen, daughter of Eira, at your’s and your family’s.”

“Yes: Sawen, Frerin. Frerin, Sawen. We all know each other now, so can we go? I’m not sure how many orcs are out there, but I doubt it will take long for the elves to dispatch them. We really should be moving along.”

“Of course. Please, follow me.” The elf took the lead, consciously slowing her steps for her shorter companions, and led them through several halls and sets of stairs before opening a well-hidden exit. “From here, make your way due east. There is only very little forest left, and when you come out, you should be within a day’s walk of Lake Town. You can re-supply there, and rest for the night, and I trust you can find your way to Erebor from there?”

Sawen’s voice near-dripped sarcasm towards the end, and the human and dwarf both grinned at the good-natured jesting. Frerin began to move, and Mena was about to follow him, when her wrist brushed against her pocket, and her eyes widened in remembrance. “You should go on ahead Frerin, and perhaps scout out a bit? I would speak with Sawen in private for a moment, if it would cause no offense.” Curiosity glinted in the dwarf’s eye, but he nodded regardless and moved along.

“Mellon nin, I have a favor I would ask of you. This is a very delicate matter, and you are the only one I know I can trust with this.” She reached into her pocket, and removed the small golden ring, wrapping it tightly in a strip of cloth before handing it to the elf. The moment Sawen laid eyes on it, her gaze darkened, and she whispered harshly, “Mena! Do you have any idea what it is that you hold?” The human shook her head, “I only sense darkness about this. I would ask that you take it to Lord Elrond, and _only_ to him. Please, Sawen, you must give it to him, personally.”

The elf nodded, although she was still very hesitant to take the ring, easily sensing the darkness and evil that practically oozed from it. “Hannon le, mellon nin. I am in your debt.” Sawen shook her head, after quickly pocketing the ring. “Nay, Mena, there is no debt for this. I feel that this ring will be essential to the fate of all of Arda, and no doubt Lord Elrond will know what to do with it. I thank you, for your trust.”

Sawen then handed her a small satchel that contained a strange form of elvish waybread, ( _lembas_ , the elf explained), and a skin of water. The human reached up and gave her friend a quick hug, grateful that the ring was no longer her concern, and then hurried to catch up with Frerin, nearly colliding with the dwarf upon the path. He grinned, easily righting her as she stumbled.

“In a bit of a hurry there, lass? Surely ye didn’t think I’d leave ye behind with these tree-huggers? Although your friend there seemed to actually remember her manners. Still, a dwarf can only take so many thinly-veiled insults and interrogation without forgetting a bit of manners himself, and that Elvenking certainly seemed to enjoy testing my limits.”

Mena just smiled, as glad as the dwarf that they were away from the questionable _hospitality_ of the woodland elves. They continued on their way, after Mena gave Frerin the satchel, trusting that he would thirst after such a long time conversing with the Elvenking.

He took it gratefully, and drank quickly, although he left the water-skin over half full, wanting to conserve what remained in case of dire circumstances. However, it seemed that Mahal (or Yavanna, they still could not agree upon which would watch over them, until Mena finally suggested both) favored them this day, and they reached the edges of the forest safely, making camp on the border shortly after nightfall.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Comments are gold, folks, and greatly appreciated at that! Please, let me know what you think! Even if it's horrible, tell me!


	14. Tragedy Strikes

The dawn of the next day came swiftly; entirely too swiftly in Mena’s humble opinion. After nearly half of an hour of shouting and shoulder-shaking, Frerin finally yielded, and quite literally picked the human up, dragging her away from her bedroll, and then dropped her bodily on the ground. Groaning and grumbling as if she had been stabbed, and not merely abruptly awoken, the human finally rose and packed up her things, glaring daggers at the dwarf. As opposed to Mena, the dwarf was decidedly a morning person, and just grinned at her.

They left shortly after partaking in a bit of _lembas_ , which was surprisingly filling, and made good time as they approached Lake Town. Frerin’s deep blue eyes were shining brighter than his hair in sunlight, as he laid eyes upon his home for the first time in decades. He was glowing with excitement, extremely eager to be home once again. Mena smiled contentedly, grateful that they had made it all the way with only minimal danger.

“Frerin, have you any family in Erebor? You spoke once of your elder brother, and a younger sister? Will they be here?”

“I hope so Mena, although I cannot be sure. It has been many, many years since I have seen my family. Rather like ye and your sisters, from what you’ve told me. Ye must miss them as much as I miss mine.”

Mena smiled sadly, and replied, “Aye, I miss them a great deal, and worry for them every day. Ismira would be nearly 20 now, and Amy and Tamina 12 and 13. However, I know that they will be safe in the White City, so long as our aunt lives, and I have every confidence in Ismira’s ability to protect the little ones. Perhaps, after you are safely home and with your kin again, I will travel the Brown Lands and make my way to Minas Tirith to pay them a visit. I do miss them greatly.”

The dwarf nodded in understanding, and then went back to nearly bouncing upon his toes, very overeager to finally, _finally_ be home once more. Would Thorin behave differently now that he had been ruling as King Under the Mountain for some time? Had Dís remarried after Víli’s death? What did Fíli and Kíli look like after so many years? Would he even be remembered by his young sister-sons?

What seemed like an eternity later, the two finally stood gazing upon the great main gates of Erebor. Frerin took the lead then, beginning to sprint in his excitement to enter the mountain. Mena fell behind, smirking good-naturedly at his enthusiasm, and followed at a more sedate pace. The gates were open, a steady stream of men and dwarves going in and out, proof of Erebor’s flourishing trade with Dale, and Mena lost sight of Frerin for a moment as he ducked and wove like a child, as he hurried through the crowds.

Mena paused for a moment, letting a large group of Men pass by on their way out of the mountain, when a young man came running up to them from the direction of Lake Town, and spoke urgently, “Excuse me, but do any of you know of a human woman who goes by the name of Mena? I have an urgent letter that I was told to give to her.” Mena’s eyes widened in surprise, as the group of men who were asked all denied any knowledge, and continued on their way.

The lad’s shoulders drooped in defeat, and he glanced around, looking as if he were about to head back. “Lad!” she called out, stopping him before he could leave. “Forgive me for eavesdropping, but did you say you sought a woman named Mena?” He nodded quickly, “Aye, do you know her?”

“I am she” Mena replied, “From whom is this letter written?” The lad reached into a pouch at his side, and pulled out a well-worn piece of parchment, partially torn. “The man who gave it to me said it was from a young woman of Gondor, named Ismira.”

At the name, Mena’s eyes widened in shock, and she nearly snatched the letter from his hands. “Thank ye, lad. You may tell whoever sent you that your letter reached its intended recipient.” He nodded, bowed slightly, and departed, looking eager to head back into Lake Town. Mena turned, glancing forward at Frerin, who seemed to have become engaged in a lively conversation with one of the guards at the gate, before turning her attention to the parchment in her hands.

 

_Mena,_

_I write to you in an hour of great need. A sickness has come upon many families in the lower levels of Minas Tirith, and our aunt has succumbed to it. Amy is deathly ill as well, and is barely holding on. The medicines required to cure this sickness is extremely expensive, and I had no choice but to sell the home we were staying in to keep Amy alive. Tamena seems to be unaffected, although that could change at any time. We have no place to stay, and with Amy as ill as she is, I dare not take them North to you and Bilbo. Please, sister, we need your help. I have lost my job, and I cannot feed all of us. Our neighbors are as poorly off as we are, and none of the nobility can be bothered to help any of us. Without your aid, our family will perish. I cannot do this alone. Please, leave Bilbo for a time and come to the White City to save us!_

_Your sister,_

_Ismera_

Mena went still, the letter falling from her hand to hit the ground, unnoticed. She stood completely frozen for a moment, then turned on her heel and sprinted, unheeding of anything surrounding her, her mind completely blank of all thoughts except for those of her sisters. She didn’t spare a thought for the letter Bilbo had sent to her sisters right before they left, explaining that she would be leaving Bag End for a time, going with Frerin to Erebor. She didn’t find it odd that Ismira referred to Aunt Tira as merely ‘our aunt’. She did not even think of how strange it would be that Ismira would misspell Tamina’s and her own name. Mena was completely fixated on just _one_ thought. **_My sisters need me_**.

 

* * *

 

 

Mena ran blindly, focused only on reaching Minas Tirith, uncaring of the hundreds of miles of possibly hostile territory between her and the White City. In this state, she ran for many hours, until darkness covered the land and the sun rose again. Late in the afternoon of the second day of her desperate flight, she tripped, and found herself unable to rise again. Her body had finally collapsed from sheer exhaustion, all reserves finally exhausted.

As she lay panting in the grass, she barely registered the shadow that fell over her, and she was instantly surrounded by hooded men on horseback. She struggled to rise, trying desperately to get to her feet, but was struck across the back of the shoulders by a heavy fist, and fell. Blinking rapidly, her vision blurred in and out, and she gasped desperately as she saw familiar gray eyes. The old slave trader who had sold Frerin to her so long ago stood leering over her.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I don't have a Beta, so all mistakes are my own. All comments and kudos are welcome! :)


	15. Tears of a King

The doors to the throne room chamber were thrown wide as two guards rushed in, out of breath and clearly very agitated. “Lord King!” huffed the elder, quickly bending to one knee to his king, as he and his companion tried to catch their breath. Thorin Oakenshield, King Under the Mountain, rose quickly to his feet at the abrupt entry. “Speak” he commanded gruffly, concern marring his visage. “There is a dwarrow at the main gates to the city. My lord... he claims to be **_Prince Frerin_**!”

One could have heard a pebble drop in the following silence of the throne room. All who had heard the outrageous claim were stunned into silence, and all eyes turned to the king who stood frozen in his place. “Show me” he whispered harshly, his countenance all anger save for his eyes, which glinted with a mad, desperate sort of hope. Immediately, a blond dwarf was taken into the throne room none too gently by two more guards who had been on duty at the gate when the stranger had spoken. A voice thought to be lost for decades came from the stranger then, a voice Thorin still remembered from the days of his youth. “You’d think, brother, that after all these years a dwarf would find a warmer welcome waiting fer him at home than to be arrested!”

Cheerful, darker blue eyes gazed back at the king’s icy ones. He still had that cocksure grin, that inherently joyful and mischievous glint in his eyes, that unbreakable spirit that had so defined and set apart the younger son of Thráin in days long past. Frerin, son of Thráin, did indeed stand before the throne of Erebor once again.

“Nadadith” came the hoarse, unbelieving whisper from the dwarven king. Frerin nodded briskly, blinking rapidly to dispel the few tears that had come to his eye at once more being with a member of his own kin. He had no sooner begun to nod, than a strong, warm weight crashed carelessly into him, and the long lost prince found himself enveloped in the king’s embrace.

Now dwarves are often thought to be cold, cruel, and calculating, overcome by their greed and lust for gold, and caring nothing for the troubles of others. However, had any soothsayer or doubter caught sight of Thorin’s face at that moment, uncaring would have been the very _last_ word that would come to mind. The stone-cold King Under the Mountain was utterly undone. Tears flowed freely from his eyes, and he sobbed into his little brother’s cloak, whispering over and over, “Nadad, gajut men!”

Frerin was in no better condition. He freely flung his arms around his brother and allowed himself to weep as well. “Menu gajatu, nadad. For there is nothing to forgive.” Thorin just shook his head in denial, but did not let go of his brother. “You have come home” he stated shakily, after another long moment, his eyes glistening though the tears had stopped. He pulled back a pace, grasping Frerin’s shoulders, and looked upon his face. “My brother is alive!” he cried out, the call echoing through the throne room and carrying out into the halls.

 

* * *

 

The brothers were blind to all in the world save each other for several minutes, each reaffirming that the other truly did stand before them, alive and well, many times. Frerin shakily questioned where their sister, Dís, was, and whether she yet lived as well. Thorin told him that she does indeed yet live, and temporarily resides in Ered Luin to negotiate trade arrangements with the dwarves living in the settlement there. This led to yet another wave of emotion from Frerin, who was overjoyed that yet more of his family was indeed still amongst the living.

Finally, Thorin recovered himself enough to ask the one, crucial question, “What happened?” The brothers glanced around, noticing that the crowd of petitioners and council members that had previously filled the throne room had been discretely shuffled out by the guards to grant their king privacy. The only exception was Dwalin, who stood silently by the now-closed doors, a silent guard who would not betray anything that might be said in confidence between the royal brothers.

Frerin took a seat upon the floor casually, uncaring of his location, and Thorin sat beside him, not finding it within himself to care about the impropriety of royalty seated upon the ground. As the younger of the brothers began to tell his tale, Thorin’s expressions ranged from guilty, to horrified, to enraged, and back again, and it was only with great effort that the king kept himself from interrupting in many places. When Frerin spoke briefly of his time as a slave, even though he omitted a great deal of the horrors he had suffered, Thorin clenched his hands so tightly his fingernails drew blood, but he remained silent to let Frerin finish speaking.

Though Dwalin made a valiant attempt to remain impassive and silent at the door, his visage began to grow more and more enraged, and by the time Frerin had gotten to just before his meeting with Mena, the bald dwarrow was shaking with fury at all that had been done to his prince. That rage quickly gave way to incredulity, however, to match that of the king, when Frerin spoke of being sold once again, but to one who bore him no ill intent.

The golden haired son of Durin ended his narrative with his experiences with the strange young human who had showed him such kindness unlooked for and unexpectedly. Unfortunately, it was not until this point that Frerin realized the very human he spoke of was not beside him as she had been so often over the last year. He finished his story, then rose to his feet to greet Dwalin formally, having neglected to do so before with his distraction at Thorin’s presence.

After they had clasped arms, and knocked foreheads in a brotherly greeting, Frerin spoke. “My friend, it is good to see you alive and well! I see that the timeline for our bet is finally over, but that Mohawk was very attractive on you!” The warrior and prince, as well as the king, laughed loud and long at the memory of the ridiculous hairstyle Dwalin had been forced to wear for _five years_ after losing a bet to Frerin shortly before the battle at Azanulbizar.

“I must ask, though” the prince continued, “what has become of the human who accompanied me here? I last saw her at the gates; was she arrested as well?” The Captain of the Guard summoned the same two dwarves who had apprehended the prince just hours ago, and questioned them, but they claimed to have no knowledge of a human traveling with the prince. They then knelt to Frerin and begged his pardon for having dared to lay hands upon their prince, which he quickly granted, and dismissed them, distracted at the news they had brought.

If they had not seen her at the gates, had she not even entered Erebor? Where was Mena?

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> My sincerest apologies for the lateness of this update, but I... have no excuse. *hangs head in shame* I would promise to update more frequently, but that would probably be a lie. However, I have not, and do not plan to, abandon this. Thanks for sticking around this long!


	16. Beautiful Slave

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> *TRIGGER WARNING* I’m really not sure if anything here is too graphic, but it could certainly be triggering. There is vague mention of rape, and somewhat explicit violence, with quite a bit more alluded to. I have not changed the rating to mature, but I wouldn’t recommend reading this chapter if you are under 16 or uncomfortable with these themes. Heck, I’m uncomfortable with them, so there is nothing overly explicit, but I can see how it could be triggering. Read at your own risk.
> 
> I found this song: https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=7jYU9meVXKg which refers to human trafficking. This is a very serious issue today, and I realize that many people aren’t aware of what is happening. That said, the song also fits this chapter very well, so I would recommend listening to it before or during reading this chap. Enjoy! ...Or don’t, I guess. This is definitely the darkest part of this fic. I had a lot of trouble writing something like this. It gets better, I swear! *bawls*

_I don’t know where I am..._ The first part of morning was her favorite. When she very first woke up, it was easy to imagine herself alone, free, outside camping, in Bag End, anywhere but where she was, really. All too soon, however, she would be brought back to reality, most commonly with a vicious kick to the ribs or kidneys and a cruel voice snarling, “Get up, trash”.

            _They’ve taken all that I had..._ Life as a slave to harsh, unfeeling men who already held a grudge against her was not favorable. Beatings with fists, feet, whips, belts, sticks, even a memorable evening when she had refused to... _serve_ the master quickly enough, she was struck multiple times with stones. Mena was rather surprised she had survived that one, in truth. Two months later, she still moved with a well-defined limp.

            _Beaten, bartered, broken in..._ She had tried to run, at first. Four times to be exact. Three beatings worse than any she could possibly have imagined at first, and then the fourth. The master had taken out his favorite knife to play... She had not tried to run since. Miraculously, she had not lost her left eye, but it had been a close thing. The massive wound would never fully heal, though she doubted she would live long enough to worry about that.

            _Until I obey..._ After seeing the perverse, insane joy in the masters’ eyes as she screamed and tried to struggle as the knife slowly, slowly slide through her forehead, over her left eye, and deeply into her cheek, she almost completely shut down. There was no more running, no more rebellious talk after the very real threats to tear out her tongue. In all appearances, Mena was a silent, submissive, obedient slave.

 

* * *

 

            Some days she was surprised at how much she was still able to bleed, with dark red spots already staining the forest floor in many different locations, each an indication of where the traders had made camp for the night. Her feet had torn, at first, bleeding profusely along with the rest of her. The floggings upon the soles of her feet from the escape attempts had not helped. Over time, they had finally begun to callous enough to keep from bleeding when she walked, but the daily forced marches barefoot remained a brutal torture in and of itself.

            As she cleaned up the pots and dishes after the traders had eaten, Mena tried to distract herself from what she _knew_ was coming that night. It was the old man, the leader’s, turn tonight. He was always the cruelest, harshest, when he took her. She knew better than to fight, but every time managed to be as bad if not worse than the last. Trying to think of something, _anything_ else, she wondered how on Arda Frerin had managed to survive _beasts_ like these for so many long years.

Frerin may have been able to survive many long years as a slave, but he was a dwarf, the hardiest and strongest race of middle earth, and as such, was able to weather it not unlike a mountains weathers the fiercest storm. His body, though beaten, weathered it well. His mind, like the stone he was rumored to be born of, had retained its vitality throughout the harshest of tortures. There was the fact that he was male, as well, and Mena found a sliver of solitude that at least none of these men seemed to have a taste for males, or she could have found Frerin even more damaged.

Mena, however, was only a young _female_ human, and therefore far worse off when faced with these circumstances. However strong she may have been of spirit and will, she had limits of endurance for pain and torture, both physical and psychological, and when the leader exploited her worst weak spot, she felt what little strength of mind she may have had breaking. One evening, while he was in the midst of enjoying her company, he informed Mena that while the letter that had started all this was a fake, the information inside was not. Her sisters really were in grave peril, and even now a contact of his in the city was seeking out those who answered to the names Ismira, Amy, and Tamina, and as soon as he found them, he had orders to kill them.

Mena tried not to believe it, but she knew of the underground networks that spanned middle earth for those who participated in illegal trades, and she knew it was quite plausible and even likely for the story to be true. It was not wise to offend a powerful criminal with a vast network and then carelessly give out the personal information of your unprotected loved ones. Knowing that the man could not be lying finally did the trick.

Mena was all but ready to give up on life, but one thing stopped her. A long ago memory, barely there, came up of the words she had so carelessly spoken to Bilbo shortly after Frerin’s arrival. “ _Think about it, Bilbo. If you were sold as a slave, it would be extremely difficult, but if you knew your family were alive and safe somewhere, and simply unable to help you, you would still have hope. You would know that those you love are safe, and that would be enough to keep you going_.”

Could the memory of her sisters, Bilbo, and Frerin be enough to kept _her_ going? She may have failed three fifths of her family, but she could yet live to honor their memory. As much as she wanted to give in to the depression and sorrow, she knew that was the last thing her sisters would want. She would live, and she would seek vengeance. Somehow, someway, she would escape, and see her family once again. Even if that family were only a fussy hobbit bachelor and a mischievous dwarf.

These strengthening thoughts in mind, the human took courage, and managed to retain a sense of self deep within her, though outwardly she could only be the perfect slave. Mena had been held captive for well over a year before an opportunity for an escape that may actually be possible finally arose.


	17. You Reap What You Sow

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> There, I didn’t leave you with that horrible chapter for long! Have some Hurt/Comfort, with a bunch of unnecessary angst thrown in, on me!

It had been over a year, Mena knew that much, although time had mostly ceased to have much meaning to her. The traders had begun to grow bored with their sport, and had begun to speak of how to dispose of her in loud, deliberately unsubtle voices. She pretended to be deaf, and struggled to ignore her fear at the increasingly vicious suggestions, varying from skinning her one layer at a time to seeing how many hot pokers could be stuck into her eyes, nose, ears, and body before she died.

She could scarcely walk now, so weakened by exhaustion, pain, stress, blood loss, and malnutrition, but she fought to hide it nonetheless. The moment she became a liability was the moment those suggestions would be put into play. One morning, she dimly registered that they were once again in a forest, farther from the cities they had been to more commonly, and that the darkness about the trees seemed somehow familiar. The traders were wary, speaking of elves and enchantments, and the words struck a chord with the slave, as she struggled to remember what that meant.

Elves...enchantments...dark forests... Mirkwood? Could they truly have brought her onto the Elvenking’s lands? Briefly, she permitted herself a fantasy of elven warriors descending upon the party of traders, slaying them all before rescuing her like a legend of old, before she winced slightly at the foolishness. The only escape for her now would be death. Running was hopeless, fighting was hopeless, and who could possibly want to buy a slave as damaged as she? Before, the traders refused to sell her, regardless of several generous offers, in lieu of more greatly desiring their revenge for her humiliating them with the coin trick. Now, bored as they had become, they may sell her, but who would buy something like her?

* * *

 

            As Fate, Yavanna, or perhaps Mahal would have it, only miles away from the despairing slave, the two youngest princes of Erebor were laughing cheerfully, reveling in the freedom and exhilaration of the hunt, as they celebrated the coming-of-age of Prince Kíli. Still shocked that their overprotective king and uncle had permitted them to stray so far from dwarven lands, the brothers were enjoying themselves quite thoroughly. They were young, had three weeks to do whatever they pleased, a generous bag of gold to purchase anything Kíli may desire for his birthday, and no royal duties or responsibilities to uphold. Life was good.

            They were chasing a brown stag deeper into the trees than may have been advisable when the creature suddenly veered off in another direction, spooked at something ahead. The brothers glanced at each other in unison, and wordlessly agreed to forego the fresh meat in favor of investigation. They rode forward silently on their sturdy ponies, and found themselves shocked at finding a camp of Men in the midst of the forest. Observing them curiously, they failed for a moment to notice several of the Men were nearly naked, starving, and chained to one another and a large tree off to the side of one camp.

When they did, they were shocked and horrified, not to mention enraged. They had, only a year ago, been able to meet their uncle Frerin, astounded to find that their mother’s brother whom they had heard so much about had survived Azanulbizar, only to learn with horror that the price had been many, many years as a slave. Therefore, they were, quite understandably, upset and angered at the sight before them now. Without thinking, they rode right into the camp as though they owned the place, ready to confront these evil men without a plan or even an idea of what to do.

* * *

 

The sight of two dwarves, appearing out of the trees like spirits, shocked Mena as nothing else had for quite a while. She stumbled, dropping the pitcher of water she had been carrying for the men to wash up with, and was met with another shock when she caught sight of the blond dwarf’s face. “F-F-Fre?...” was all she managed, seeing her friend in a younger, slightly different face, entirely unaware of the master she had just dropped broken ceramic and water all over.

The man, entirely too foolish to bother glancing at what she had found so distracting, leapt to his feet with a bellow, striking the distracted girl hard upon the face while yelling at her that she was nothing more than a waste of space. _Nothing I haven’t heard before... Oh, that’s **real** original_. Curled up on the ground, arms protecting her face and the back of her neck, she was once again grateful that her thoughts remained her own, or she doubted she would still be alive.

“Stop!” a harsh voice commanded, and Mena flinched instinctively before daring to lower an arm slightly and glance up at the dwarves. It was the brunet who had spoken, his face furious, and his hand twitched for the bow at his back. The blond quickly put a hand on his arm and spoke quietly and urgently in a language that sounded only vaguely familiar. _Khuzdul, must be..._ The brunet seemed unhappy with whatever the blond was saying, but he lowered his hand before gazing at the assembled men in contempt.

Mena couldn’t find it in herself to care, as their distraction had temporarily paused her beating, and she was nothing but grateful for the reprieve, however brief. She caught the assessing glance they cast the assembled men though, and somehow knew they were weighing their chances of winning in a fight. It would seem they didn’t deem what little valuables the men possessed worth fighting for, however, when both slumped slightly, and she caught sight of a dark sorrow in their gazes as they glanced at the chained slaves to the side of the camp. Did they believe they had found good fortune, a profit in this camp only to realize that the ‘merchandise’ was of very poor quality?

Both then cast their gazes upon her, and she quickly dropped her eyes and hunched her shoulders, hoping to avoid attention. Their eyes sharpened, eyeing her speculatively, but their next words, spoken in Westron, still surprised her. “How much?” the blonde demanded gruffly, gesturing at her with an ill-disguised disgust in his voice. Mena’s eyes widened in shock, and she peeked up through her eyelashes at the dwarrows, keeping her head down. What could they want with her? Clearly, nothing benign. She suppressed a shiver, wondering which would be better, remaining under the control of the traders, or being passed to new masters who would start the tortures all over again in new and inventive ways. Not that she had much of a choice either way.

The men gathered in a small huddle, speaking quickly, a glint of gold lust in their eyes, before the leader turned to the dwarves with a look identical to that he had worn when he had sold Frerin to her so long ago. “My lord, we can see that you and your companion are honorable and noble lords, so for such a... damaged (and here he gave Mena’s prone form a loathing kick) slave, the price is but sixty gold pieces.”

The golden-haired dwarrow’s eyes narrowed, but it would seem he didn’t want to risk losing the chance of purchase, and pulled the amount from a large bag tied at the back of his saddle. The traders’ eyes bulged at the amount so readily handed over for such a worthless slave, but they at least possessed what little brain power was required to not speak of it. Without much ado, Mena was dragged over by the hair to be pushed to her knees at the side of the blond dwarf’s pony. Her bound hands were then tied to the back of his saddle, and Mena saw the trader binding her give a considering look to the bag of gold right next to where his hands were working, but the sharp glare from the brunet dwarf readily prevented him from attempting to filch any.

She kept her eyes to the ground and her head bowed, waiting for the dwarf to kick the pony into a gallop or something similar, and flinched violently when his hand touched her head instead. It was not a strike, however, but a gentle caress, which would have been reassuring in any other case, but now only made her tremble further. It would seem that her position had not changed, then.

The dwarves seemed eager to be gone from the camp, though they cast a regretful look toward the other slaves, but they kept their ponies at a slow walk. Mena wondered briefly if it could be for her benefit, but she doubted it. Who would waste such effort on a worthless slave? If the wealth the dwarves were so casually passing around were any indication, money was no object, so she was not such a fool as to think that she would be any value to them.

She bitterly remembered her father, long ago, speaking to her and her sisters of a saying amongst the Rangers, that one will reap what one has sown. She wondered fearfully if by buying Frerin, even with the best of intentions, she had somehow brought this upon herself. She remembered that while her friend was even-tempered and jovial for the great majority of the time, when he was angered, there was nothing on Arda more frightening. The dwarrows who bought her were younger, wilder, and more likely to lose their tempers, as well as owing her nothing. 

Terrified as she was, she barely registered that the dwarves had stopped moving, now a fair distance from the old camp, until they both dismounted. Flinching back slightly in fear, she sensed more than saw them approach, and she quickly dropped to her knees, bound hands raised to protect her face, for what little good it would do in the end. Her hands were taken by larger, warmer, sword-calloused ones very gently, and she felt the ropes binding her cut off swiftly with a small knife. She bowed her head, waiting for the first of the tortures to begin, and was confused and wary when nothing further was forthcoming.

After a minute, she dared to risk a glance up, and saw great sorrow in both dwarves’ expressions. The brunet made as if to speak, took a look at her bloody face, and relapsed into silence once again. The blond looked down at her for a moment, then bitterly grinned at his companion, with no humor whatsoever in his smile. “Happy Birthday, Brother.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> http://sincorah.deviantart.com/art/Mena-558314983 A friend of mine was kind enough to sketch out a picture of Mena, complete with her healed face! She would look similar to the picture after the next couple of chapters, but I was too excited to wait. Fanart! :D


	18. Just Kíli

Wounded she may be, but Mena was not so foolish as to speak or even move without the express permission of her new masters. She knew that, as weak and wounded as she was, she would not survive many more harsh punishments without time to heal. Shockingly, neither of the dwarves had struck her or even spoken with her yet, and she hoped to keep it that way for as long as possible before the inevitable torment and agony began anew.

            It would seem she had been bought as a birthday present for the brunet, a younger brother if her guess was accurate, younger, and more impulsive. Much more likely to punish for nonexistent offences, or just to release pent up anger or stress. The slave couldn’t suppress a tiny, terrified shudder, and with her luck, the masters noticed. The cold, cold hand of fear clenched in her belly, and when the blond stepped toward her, she crumpled all the way to the ground, pressing her face into the dust, whimpering softly in a wordless plea for mercy.

            At her actions, he stumbled back a step, stricken, and muttered to himself under his breath, “Mahal!” Resolutely steeling himself after a moment, he moved forward again, ignoring the flinch from the prostrate form, and gently placed his fingers under her chin to lift her face. She complied, trembling, and the prince felt his heart break a little at the terror and utter hopelessness upon her visage. His eyes widened in surprise when she dared to speak, in the softest of whispers.

            “Please, Master... Please show mercy. I will be good, I won’t try to flee or fight, I swear... Please sir, Master, mercy!” all spoken in a desperate whisper, despite knowing her pleas were more than likely in vain. She bent to kiss the dust at his feet once again, trembling still. The prince couldn’t suppress a gasp of horror, and he choked on his words once before being able to speak coherently.

            “I-I won’t... _hurt_ you. Please, get up!” His brother was just as horrified, clenching his fist to his mouth in an attempt to keep his emotions in check. They had known some of the evils of slavery, had heard a greatly modified version from their uncle, but they had not realized the full meaning until they met this human. Gently, Fíli urged Mena up with a supportive hand upon her shoulders.

She returned to her upright kneeling position, keeping her eyes downcast. This was far from the first time someone had tried to trick her into believing she was safe. The first few times, she was ashamed to admit she had truly fallen for it, thinking herself in the same situation as Frerin had been when _she_ had bought _him_ , only to meet disappointment and further torture every time. The human would not fall for such a trick so easily again.

“Here” the sudden voice of her new master startled her, and Mena jerked in surprise and fear at the hand suddenly in close proximity to her face. A water skin was held out to her, and she eyed it warily, wondering what the test was supposed to be here. She made no move to touch it until her master commanded explicitly, “Take it.”

* * *

 

Kíli decided that perhaps coming of age really wasn’t all it was made out to be. Granted, most dwarrows for their ceremony didn’t go hunting with their beloved brother, expecting to enjoy a long and relaxing trip away from the city, and perhaps purchasing a new quiver, only to end up _buying_ a _human_ instead. He winced slightly, wondering what in Durin’s name they would tell Thorin.

Not that he or Fíli had ever been comfortable with the idea of sentient beings becoming enslaved, and losing all freedoms and rights; even elves didn’t deserve such a horrid fate. However, since their beloved younger uncle’s miraculous return, every dwarf in Erebor worth his gold loathed the slave trade and everything to do with it. Their king, in particular, became furious at even the slightest mention of slavery after what had happened to his brother, and Kíli knew he would feel the same if something similar should have happened to Fíli.

Deciding that he would concern himself with his uncle’s reactions when they returned, and not before, he focused back in on his two companions, as Fíli attempted to calm down the trembling girl. He frowned at his elder brother’s pathetic attempt at humor when he was given his ‘birthday present’. A better present would have been being able to free all the unfortunates who had been under the slavers’ hands, but he knew they only had the resources to take one; if they displayed too much gold, it would be very likely that they would be attacked. While most slavers were careful only to deal in slaves ‘legally’ obtained, there were stories of unscrupulous Men who would attack anyone vulnerable and capture them for a further profit. Best to make the fight not seem worth the reward. They had taken the girl, because she was clearly the youngest, and therefore the most likely to heal, as well as being, well, a _girl_.

The instantaneous and instinctive way she had fallen to her knees at Fíli’s approach was not encouraging, and when she shuddered both brothers eyed her warily, hoping she would not faint, or something of that nature. When the human collapsed to her face, both dwarves started forward, but Fíli was closer, and got there first after cursing quietly to himself. Kíli, meanwhile, kept his distance, hoping to keep her from feeling trapped, and trying not to imagine what must have happened to make her this way. When she begged desperately for mercy, he nearly retched, shaking a bit himself in an odd combination of rage, sorrow, and pity.

As his brother convinced her to sit up, at least, Kíli quickly reached for his water skin, figuring that at the least, she would most likely be dehydrated, malnourished, and wounded. Drinking plenty of water in small increments would be an aid to all three in the long run, and so, when it seemed as though the human was a bit more settled, he took his brother’s place to offer her a drink. Peering curiously at her face, he wondered if she could have sustained mental damage, as she did not seem to understand the gesture. “Take it” he prompted, and watched with concern as a blood stained, filthy, trembling hand cautiously reached up and accepted the water.

The girl still made no move to drink though, merely holding it by the tips of her fingers. The prince was utterly bewildered. Surely that she should drink would be obvious by now, even if her mind had been harmed. When he hesitated for a moment, she actually lifted her head an inch and glanced up at him, a question clear in her eyes, though what it may be escaped him. “Go ahead. Drink. I give you my word, it has not been tampered with.”

That seemed to be what she had been waiting for, as she immediately dropped her gaze again, but took a small sip. As soon as the cool water touched her tongue, her eyes widened in surprise and relief, and she began to drink in huge gulps. Without thinking, Kíli reached out to stop her, intending to tell her to slow down, but the instant his hand moved in her direction, she recoiled, dropping the water skin and cowering away from the dwarf.

“No, no!” this only seeming to terrify her more, Kíli cursed himself for his foolish actions without thought, and continued quickly. “It’s fine. You’re fine. Here, please drink some more, only do so slowly please. Drinking too much too quickly will not end well if you have been deprived for a great deal of time.” The human cast him a wary glance, but then actually spoke.

“By your command, Master. I’m sorry for dropping it Master. Thank you for your kindness Master.” She picked up the water skin, and took a few more sips, then offered it back to the dwarf. He took it, and tried to muster a reassuring smile, saying softly, “Of course. And my name is Kíli, not ‘master’.”

“Yes, Master Kíli.”

The dwarf had to suppress a sigh, wondering if he would ever be able to reach the person within the shell, and tried again. “Just Kíli. No ‘master’ about it.” He quirked an eyebrow when she glanced at him curiously again, and then smiled encouragingly when she dared speak once more. “Yes... Kíli...”

Fíli returned again, having made some adjustments to the ponies’ saddles and gear, and spoke softly, while offering the girl a hand up. She eyed the hand warily, waiting for something that escaped the dwarves. “Come on” the heir to Erebor commanded gently. “We should keep moving. No need to be any closer than necessary to those... _fiends_... We should be able to reach our home within three days’ travel.”

She obeyed quickly, gingerly grasping the sturdy hand and allowing him to lift her to her feet. She went and stood behind the elder’s horse, waiting to be bound again, and was shocked when instead the dwarrow came, lifted her up with astounding ease, and settled her on the pony’s back. He swung up effortlessly in front of her, and nudged it into a slow and gentle canter, grinning at his brother’s protests as he hurried to catch up.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Please, tell me what you think! Even if you think it is horrible and want to tell me I’m an embarrassment to writers everywhere. I want feedback, por favor! (I don’t speak Spanish in any way, shape, or form. Three years of Spanish classes in high school did nothing. Oops.)


	19. The First Night

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Fair warning here, there is reference to past rape/non-con in this chapter. Nothing explicit, and nothing new happens, but Mena is remembering back to her time with the traders, and expects nothing different from her new ‘masters’. Just a heads up. Also, this is very much a filler chapter. Next chap things should start to pick up again.

            By nightfall, Mena was close to collapse. The traders had deprived her of food for the last three days, as penalty for not preparing their supper in time, regardless that she had been ordered to tend their horses as soon as they had stopped as well. They seemed to revel in forcing her to do a vast majority of the work, keeping their ‘wares’ separate from her, as they had had no plans to sell her at the start. Though the water the dwarves had been merciful enough to provide had helped greatly, she was still weakened from hunger and exertion. Mena struggled to conceal her exhaustion and remain seated upon the pony behind the blond dwarf without actually touching him. Touching a master without permission was not wise.

            To try to distract herself, she watched her younger master’s back as he rode slightly ahead of his brother, seemingly determined to remain in the lead after the blonde’s unfair head start. He showed no signs of slowing or stopping, and the human tried not to despair. If this kept up much longer, she would likely collapse, falling from the pony, and then the agony would truly begin. However strangely kind and benevolent her new masters had been so far, their actions were so unlikely to be anything but a trap or mind game that she did not even consider the possibility that they were genuine.

            She felt herself swaying from side to side as the sun rode low in the West, and it was then that Fíli glanced behind him at the strange shifting of weight, and noticed the weariness writ upon the human’s face. “Kí!” he cried out, reining his pony in. The younger prince turned slightly in his saddle upon hearing the familiar nickname, and saw his brother beginning to dismount. Kíli swung down from his pony with a practiced ease, then moved to assist their human.

            Mena sat uneasily still upon the hardy little pony, as her elder master, Fíli, dismounted with surprising skill from in front of her. She wondered if she was to get down as well, but did not wish to move without being commanded and risk punishment. The decision was made for her, however, when a touch to her right arm startled her, and she cringed away slightly before swiftly glancing at what had touched her. Her master stood on her right, staring into her face with an unreadable expression, before holding up both hands as though to catch her.

            Mena quickly slid to the ground, careful not to touch the dwarf, and hoped that she had correctly guessed the meaning of his motions. Risking a peek at his face, she noted that his brow had furrowed a bit, but otherwise seemed devoid of anger, and a tiny fraction of the tension lifted from her shoulders. Thus far, her masters had not been impossible to please. Perhaps, if she managed to keep her head down, mouth shut, and ears open, she might survive long enough to reach their home. Given their heading of North and East, Mena could only assume that their home was in Erebor.

             If she could survive until they reached their home, all she would need to do would be find an opportunity, somehow, to find Frerin. If she could contact him, the human had no doubt that she would find freedom. He would not leave her to such a fate. All she had to do was make it to Erebor.

             After the dwarrows dismounted, they commanded her to be seated, and Kíli handed her the water skin yet again, bidding her to drink her fill, but _slowly_. She obeyed, watching with increasing uncertainty as her masters tended to their ponies themselves, before setting up camp. Sitting idle while those who quite literally owned her did the work that should have been hers made her uneasy, and she wished that they would permit her to assist, but when she attempted to rise, to aid them as she should, both fixed her with a look that promised ill if she disobeyed.

            Soon thereafter, they took provisions from their packs, and dealt them into three equal parts. Receiving food that she did not have to ‘serve’ for, food that was unspoiled and un-burnt, was just one more thing that was strange beyond measure about her new masters. Of course, they spent good gold on her, they had to feed her as long as they wanted to keep their property alive, but why would they give her the same, good quality food as they had? She was utterly bewildered, but was not such a fool as to question it at the time.

            After eating, the two began to make strange motions with their hands, followed by a sudden and triumphant, “Yes!” from Kíli, and a baleful glare (toward his brother) by Fíli. Mena tilted her head the smallest fraction in confusion, until the blond came up to her, and she quickly dropped her eyes and hunched her shoulders once again by habit. He only took her bowl, however, and then his brother’s as well, before heading in the direction of the stream they had been following to wash up the dishes.

            Left alone with her younger master, Mena fought desperately not to panic. She waited for the all-too-familiar command to strip, to get on her knees, even just to ‘come here’; the orders varied, but the end result was always the same. However, the dwarf barely glanced at her, rising to his feet shortly after his brother departed, and went to dig through the packs that had been tied to his pony. To her astonishment, even after Fíli had returned, neither brother _used_ her in such a fashion, instead gifting her with _two_ blankets, and telling her to ‘get some rest’.

            Though it had taken several hours for her to actually relax, once the brothers had settled in for the night as well, and their breathing had slowed and steadied enough to indicate a deep sleep, astoundingly, Mena was able to find rest that night. It was close to the fourth watch of the night when a prickle ran down her shoulders, and she sat straight up, wondering what was in the forest around them. When she glanced over to her masters, they had also risen, swift and silent, eyes focused on the night, holding their weapons at the ready.


	20. Enter the Elves

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Sorry I'm so late in updating this! Life happened. Stuff happened. Then other stuff happened, and now I can write again. Yay! I hope you enjoy! Please comment if you have anything to say, even if you hate it! Let me know so I can fix it!

_Excellent timing_ , the human mused darkly, glancing warily at the tall, stern, strange beings surrounding the trio. Where were the elves when she had _truly_ needed help? These dwarves, masters or no, had been nothing but kind to her thus far. Although she knew it was only a trick, a trap for their own sick amusements, the reprieve, however temporary, had been nothing short of a miracle for the exhausted, beaten human. From the experience she had with the woodland elves thus far, Mena would much rather take her chances with the dwarrow brothers, but as the elves disarmed and bound the dwarves, she had a feeling that she would have about as much choice in this as she had in every other aspect of her life for the past year. None.

However, when the elves began to discuss, loudly and in _Westron_ , taking their prisoners to the Elvenking, Mena rose to her feet and fought back against the near-overwhelming fear, daring to speak out of turn for the first time in months. “Sirs!” she cried out, voice shaking with fear and hoarse from disuse. The elves turned as one to look at her, and the leader of the patrol who found them stepped forward, looking at her quizzically. “Please...” she glanced to where the two beings who had been the first in so, so long to show her kindness stood detained. “Please, release these dwarves. I- I know that there are tensions between your races, but... but they have done no wrong!”

It appeared that the elves disagreed, given the angered and disgusted glances they gave their two prisoners, and the next words of their leader. “No wrong? Young one, they have enslaved you, have they not? Such a thing is not permitted on the Elvenking’s lands. While it may be different for Men and _dwarves_ , Elves do not permit slavery amongst our kind, and the slavery of other races is not tolerated upon elven land. They have thus broken our laws, in our territory, and regardless of status will be punished accordingly.”

Mena had little time to wonder what the comment about status was about, instead trying to focus on a way to let the dwarves walk free. For all that she had feared abuse and torment at their hands, now that delivery was nigh, she could look upon their actions more objectively. Long-term mind-games aside, the brothers had shown her kindness, and she did not want to see them come to harm.

“My lord, please, if this is true, then is not their offense chiefly against myself? I beg thee, release them to go back to their home, upon dwarven soil, and harm them not on my account! Let the loss of the price paid in gold for my person be enough penalty for them, for they have not caused me harm. Please, my lord, let them go!” thus saying, the human swayed a bit on her feet, the exertion of traveling all the day before, and now her impassioned speech, as well as the lingering fear that she would be punished for speaking in the presence of her betters combined to drag her to the brink of exhaustion, and she felt herself crumpling to the ground.

The last thing her mind registered was strong elven arms catching her before she could hit the ground, and voices raised in argument beside her. Dimly, right before she lost the battle with unconsciousness, she thought she heard Master Fíli shouting something about the human slavers from before.

* * *

 

A gentle hand, passing over the still raw wound covering most of the left half of her face, stirred Mena back to consciousness. She tried to move her head, uncomfortable with the helplessness of her current position, when she heard a commanding, familiar voice chanting in Sindarin. _Where had she heard that voice before?_ Mena felt a cool, soothing sensation cover the damaged flesh of her face, the area becoming absent of pain for the first time since the old master had taken the knife to her flesh. As she tried to place the voice she could hear, she felt the blackness creeping back until it overtook her once more.

* * *

 

When next she woke, Mena felt slightly drowsy in the way only certain medicines could cause, and she looked around her surroundings with confusion and fear. Nothing looked familiar to her, and she forced herself to sit up, surprised at the lack of pain in that action. Her head felt clearer than it had in months, and she felt almost _human_ again. “Frerin...” she whispered, wishing the sturdy dwarf was by her side. Then, she started. When had she come to rely upon the memory of the dwarf so greatly?

Though she was still greatly grieved by the loss of her sisters, so innocent in all this, and she missed Bilbo greatly, it was the image of Frerin, laughing at some mischief he had gotten into, with his blue eyes sparkling and golden hair flowing behind him, that the human focused on. It was an image forever seared into her mind, a single light that had sustained her even in the darkest of her time as a slave.

She was broken from her thoughts and jumped slightly, whirling to face the door when it swung open. Of all people to walk in, Sawen would have been the last that she would expect, and yet, it was the hazel-eyed, dark-haired elleth herself who strolled in just then, a fierce joy warring with a great sorrow in her gaze. “Hello, penneth. Welcome back to the world of the living.” Her eyes softened then, running over the human in clear relief. “I had worried for your life when the Lieutenant brought you in. It is a joy to my heart to see you well again- or at least as well as can be expected.”

Mena felt a strange sensation about her mouth, and was surprised to find that she was smiling. She had not smiled since the day she left Frerin at the gates, and yet, here she was, grinning like a madwoman at the sight of the elven scribe. “Sawen!” she managed to choke out, surprised by the tears of joy that flooded her eyes, and she rose to embrace the elf, shaking. For once, it was not fear that caused her to tremble, but the sheer happiness and relief that came as it truly hit home that she was _free._

Just then, a knock came upon the door, and a young guard that looked vaguely familiar stepped inside the small healing chamber. “Healer Sawen, Lady Mena” he acknowledged, dipping his head slightly in respect. Mena looked closer at him, and decided that he must have been with the patrol that had found her. Seeing, and perhaps misinterpreting the human’s intense gaze, the young elf smiled a bit sheepishly and nodded to her. “Lady Mena, the dwarves, at your request, were escorted to the borders of the forest nearest to Erebor, and released to their home from there. They are banished from the lands of the Greenwood for ten years, at the end of which time their king may bargain for permission for them to hunt here again. Is this satisfactory to you?”

Mena felt the smile that had diminished somewhat at his entrance brighten once more. “Yes, sir, it is very satisfactory. You, and your patrol leader, have my gratitude for your leniency.” He simply nodded once again, then turned to Sawen. “Healer, is she recovered enough to walk? The king has commanded her presence as soon as she is healed sufficiently.” Sawen sighed slightly, in a way that made Mena wonder if this very question had already been posed to her friend several times during the period of time which she was unconscious. “Yes, Argolis, it would seem that she is now physically healed enough to present herself to the king. Will you be escorting _us_ to the throne room?” He inclined his head to signify assent.

Although nervous as to what the Elvenking would have to say, Mena could not help but feel grateful and relieved at the emphasis Sawen had placed upon ‘us’ when she had spoken of standing before the king. At least she would not have to face Thranduil alone. Nonetheless, by the time they entered the throne room, the young human was trembling slightly, wishing she were just about anywhere else. Upon seeing the magnificent throne room and the king himself, Mena found herself wishing she could have taken her chances with the dwarves.

The last time she had been in these halls, it had been very brief, and she had not even seen the king. Now, as she finally laid eyes on the lethal Elvenking, she was struck suddenly by the thought that this was not an elf you could insult and then walk away from still breathing. Sitting upon a majestic throne placed on a dais that was several steps high, Thranduil made for an impressive, if extremely intimidating, picture. He had piercing blue eyes, long, silvery blond hair, and an expression that could rival Frerin’s when he was deep in thought: pure stone.

When the guard behind them stopped a few paces from the door but nudged her shoulders gently in a signal that the two should continue forward, Mena rolled her shoulders back in an impersonation of Frerin when he was angry (very rarely), and walked as boldly as she was able towards the throne. Sawen followed, a half-pace behind her, but stopped about halfway through the throne room, moving up along the wall so as to be out of the way, while catching Mena’s eye to indicate her continued support should the human need it.

Mena bowed slightly from the waist in respect, remembering the kindness and hospitality of Lord Elrond, as well as being grateful for the aid of the patrol who had found her. Thanks to Sawen’s healing, her body was nearly completely restored. Due to the number and intensity of the wounds she had sustained, she would bear many scars for the rest of her life, but everything internal was as healed and functional as it had ever been, and the human was grateful. It was Thranduil himself who finally broke the tension-filled silence, addressing Mena. “You walk like a dwarf” he informed her with a hidden smile, “are you as arrogant and stone-minded as them as well?”


	21. Tales of Men

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> So this is far from my best work. But I needed a filler. It could be better, but I'd like to flatter (*ahem* lie to) myself into thinking it could be worse too. Enjoy!

Mena allowed a small, shaky smile to come across her face at that, even as nervous as she was, as she thought of her friend and hoped he was happy back in the home of his youth. “I could not answer that honestly, your highness, without knowing many dwarves myself. For my part, I hope that arrogance is not strong within me, but I wouldn’t know. Sir.” He rose at that, and glided closer impossibly smoothly. It seemed as though the wood elves didn’t walk, they floated. After he had come full circle, he gave a small nod as though assuring himself of something, then spoke once more. “Lieutenant Túrolas informs me that you have some knowledge of my people from your father, who was among the rangers of the north. You should have known better than to enter my lands uninvited and unpermitted. Especially considering that this is the second time you find yourself within my walls, taken by one of my patrols.”

Mena paled and would have tried to explain, but the king spoke again before she could. “I have also been told that you did not trespass here by choice, but you were taken and wounded by slavers traveling through the southern reaches of my forest. You may continue to rest and heal in my halls, and when you are recovered I shall provide an escort for you to the human town of Dale. From there, you may make your way back to your home, wherever it may be. For now, you are welcome in my halls, Mena, daughter of the Dúnedain.”

She breathed a sigh of relief, and bowed again, a bit lower this time in respect, and thanked him. He nodded a brief dismissal, and then turned to speak with the Lieutenant once again. As he began to speak, the guards who had escorted her to the throne room led Mena back through the twisting halls, until they reached a room not unlike the one she had stayed in when she and Frerin had been in Rivendell. It was nothing fancy to the elves, but to Mena after so long living as a slave in the wilderness, it seemed as though it were Valinor itself.

As her wounds were no longer life threatening, thanks to the talents of Sawen and other elven healers, she did not require any further treatment, and after joyously partaking in the bath generously provided, Mena fell deep into a much needed healing sleep in record time.

 

* * *

 

The next morning when she woke up she was provided with food and water, and three changes of clothes nearly identical to that which her father had worn. The unofficial ‘uniform’ of a Ranger of the North, forest green tunic, gray leggings, and a sturdy dark gray cloak. She thanked the elf who had brought it, and he told her that he had personally met few of the rangers himself, but over the years whenever he had visited his distant kin in Rivendell and there had been a ranger or two there, they had always seemed to be the very best of all Mankind.

Mena agreed heartily, thinking longingly of her father and sisters, and disgustedly at the opposite- scum like the slavers who were, for all she cared, feed for the giant spiders said to inhabit the forest. She hoped their filthy corpses made the unholy spawn of Ungoliant sick.

 

* * *

 

The next morning, Sawen came to the room Mena had slept in, bearing breakfast and good tidings. The cheerful scribe happily announced that Mena would be as physically healed as possible and ready to travel by the next morning. The human was beyond grateful, for though nightmares had plagued her sleep, and she had woken with a silent scream more than once, believing herself to still be under the hand of the slavers, she still wished to return to Erebor. The girl knew that it was likely unhealthy to be repressing her emotions regarding her captivity, but she could not travel alone while breaking down and trying to deal with what had happened. Bravely, she held to the hope that whatever repercussions occurred from her repressing as much of that time as she could, could be resolved with time, when she was truly safe.

For now, all she could think of was to once again attempt to get into the Lonely Mountain, and to reunite with Frerin. Perhaps speaking with her old friend could help her, both in her struggles coping with being tortured and raped for so long a time, and sharing in her grief at the loss of her sisters. The golden haired dwarrow, of all people, would understand what enslavement and the loss of family felt like. It seemed a good way to start, at least.

One thing, though, that puzzled the human, was why the elves would so readily release her, especially into a town of Men so close to Erebor, where her most recent masters lived and had so recently returned to. What if, on her way into the mountain, she ran into Fíli and Kíli? Would they not attempt to reclaim their slave? They had paid good gold for her, after all, and while she would never speak ill of Frerin, even he was straightforward regarding the fact that most, if not all, dwarves are very fond of the yellow metal. The only explanation for the elves’ seeming apathy was just that; apathy. Their pride and sense of ego would not permit them to leave her enslaved to two _dwarves_ of all creatures on their land, but they didn’t care enough to try to control her actions once she was free. Mena was only grateful that she seemed to be in full control of her faculties, and had no messed up desire to return to slavery or some such.

As she chatted idly with Sawen, the scribe began to sketch out a drawing of the forest view from the window, and Mena was only half paying attention until the elf mentioned Dale, which was apparently where she would find herself the next day. Again. She felt herself drifting a bit as she listened to the scribe’s musical voice, re-telling the story of Laketown, and how King Bard, once a simple bargeman, though descendent of the noble, wise, and fair Lord Girion, had become the ‘King’ of the city of Men on the borders of the great lake.

* * *

 

 

The city of Dale had long stood upon the shores of the great lake, near to Erebor, and the city flourished, for they had an alliance with the mighty and prosperous dwarves, and there was peace in the lands of Men. Then, a cruel, foolish, greedy soul took office, calling himself the ‘Master of Laketown’. ‘Laketown’ had become a nickname for Dale, as it stood so near to the great lake, and was often referred to by either name.

Three years past, the then-‘Master of Laketown’ and several of his traitorous men, blinded by unnecessary and poisonous greed, had formulated a plan to betray the long-standing alliance with Erebor and attempt to get a spy or thief inside the mountain to steal gold for the men loyal to the master of the city. Bard, at the time a mere bargeman, discovered the plot, and rallied the people of the town against the master. He had mistreated them liberally for years, unchecked and unchallenged, but the people were finally prepared to stand up to him and overthrow him for this treachery.

The men of Dale had no desire to bring down the wrath of their mighty dwarven neighbors upon them, and quickly implemented a swift and effective coup, executing the master and the ringleaders for their crimes. Some of the townspeople got carried away with power, and wanted to put to death everyone even suspected of having played a part in the crimes, but Bard stepped up and demanded mercy for any who would admit to being part of it immediately.

Several stepped forward, and when they weren’t immediately killed, all others who had been involved save for four also admitted their guilt. Bard commanded that they be put on a sort of ‘community service’, working to rebuild homes and barns for those too poor or physically unable to do so themselves. Although most of the criminals were content, and grateful for the merciful conditions of their punishment, one muttered loudly, “And who do you think you are, the King of Laketown?”

Immediately, a man in the crowd shouted out “Hail Lord Bard, King of Laketown”, and the cheer was taken up unanimously. The people of Dale accounted their continued safety to Bard, and were grateful and overjoyed to now have a leader that was pure of heart and generous of deed. Although the humble man tried to protest, it was decided all around that he would take the place of the now-dead traitors.

As for the other four criminals who did not step forth immediately to admit to their guilt, they were discovered later and put to death quickly and mercilessly. Since that day, the town has flourished under Bard’s hand even as it had under his ancestor’s.

* * *

 

Mena blinked a bit as Sawen’s tale ended, and smiled gratefully at her friend for the telling. The next morning, she was indeed healed enough to depart, and she made tracks for Dale with no delay, mercifully arriving without further incident. She entered the city with little trouble, and was able to rent a tiny room at a filthy inn for the night with a small sum of gold that Sawen had gifted her with right before her departure from the Woodland Realm.


	22. Travels

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hello again! My apologies that this chapter is late, I had intended to update by Thanksgiving, but my dog was killed in a car accident, so I was a bit thrown off emotionally for a time. Now, however, I'm back to writing! Also, sorry for the short chapter, but in exchange, the next one will be up by tomorrow! Hope you enjoy!

**Chapter 22**

As she felt herself begin to fall asleep, Mena pondered her decision to once again try to enter Erebor, hopefully without any unexpected detours this time. She felt she was coping, at least if coping was shoving down any and all memories and feeling related to the past year and trying to forget it, but she needed family. Right now, Frerin and Bilbo were the only family the broken human had left, and she needed the sturdy support her dear friend could bring.

She snuggled into the worn, but thankfully clean, sheets on the bed, curling into a ball and wondering what Frerin had been doing since his return to his home. She hoped with all her heart that he was still alive and well, and amused herself briefly by thinking of finally being able to meet his mysterious family. The dwarf had always been very tight-lipped about his family and his life before slavery.

He had spoken often, however, of his clearly much-beloved older brother and younger sister. Never mentioning either by name, it was always ‘my brother did this’ or ‘my sister said that’, but from the smile that would light up his face and the shining light in his eyes whenever he spoke of them, it was clear that Frerin came from a very close and loving family. However, whenever Mena had asked him about his parents, he had closed up once again, and replied only that they were no longer among the living.

Mena, not wanting to make him uncomfortable by pushing him to speak of a topic he clearly wished to avoid, did not interrogate him further, unwilling to pry into his privacy. Now, in the darkness of night, her mind began to play with her, and she wondered if he even remembered her, since he would been safely with his blood kin once again for longer than he had ever even known her. Why should one, foolish human matter to him? True, she had shown him kindness, and she would like to think they had been friends, but the past year had seemed so long a time to her, she would not be overly surprised if she had been forgotten entirely.

After silently weeping for a short time, the only weakness she would allow herself, the human managed to fall asleep, resting fitfully in the filthy room and considerably less than sturdy bed. The next morning when she woke saw her in a much better mood, hope filling her heart once again with the light of day, and she became very eager to see her friend again. She departed the city of Men quickly, and headed up a well beaten track to the gates of Erebor a second time. This time, however, there was no false messenger waiting to ensnare her with lies.

Mena approached the mighty dwarven gate, which was standing open during the day, allowing merchants and traders in and out of the city, a sign of their friendly alliance with Dale. The dwarves on guard duty barely gave her a passing glance, although a few of the merchants exiting at the same time she went to enter gave her an odd look or two at the scars on her face.

Although most of her wounds had fully healed, she now carried many scars all over her body, and her face was no exception. Fortunately, Sawen had done her work quite well, so that any scarring she had retained was minimal. If she had not been healed by elvish methods, there would be thick, ropy scars quite literally wrapping her entire body. As it was, in its place were now thin, white lines where the worst wounds had been, and little to no evidence in the more minor areas.

Mena was grateful to the elf, of course, but she was mostly glad that the slavers had not decided to take her eyes, ears, or limbs during the course of their punishments. Granted, they had often argued, one demanding that he be allowed to cut out her tongue, only for another to protest that they wanted to hear her screams and pleas for mercy, the latter of which she had never succumbed to doing.

Another yelled out that they should dig out her eyes with a spoon, but their leader wanted to see the fear in her eyes every time he approached with yet another knife or hot iron. Even now, she still woke up screaming without any sound, shaking horribly and covered in a cold sweat and she couldn’t help but wonder if Frerin had suffered similar nightmares. Shaking off her morbid thoughts, and repressing them once again, Mena took a breath and walked through the main gates of Erebor.


	23. Entering Erebor

Mena was rather surprised at the ease with which she was able to get into the mountain, but of course it was just then that her typical luck caught up with her, and she realized all the major flaws in her plan of: ‘I can just walk inside and find Frerin’.

Erebor was huge, teeming with dwarves of all ages as they hurried about their business, and although many were dark of hair, there were also several red-headed ones, and many showed testament to their age by sporting gray or white hair and beards. Fortunately, it seemed that there were very few dwarves who were blond, and neither of the two that Mena had managed to see so far had the almost glowing golden locks that Frerin had boasted. One had been a sandy blond, almost closer to brown, and the other a silver-blond color, rather similar to that of the elven prince she had glimpsed briefly while in Mirkwood.

After wandering hopelessly for a while, trying to stay out of everyone’s way, Mena finally gave in and decided to try asking for directions. How many dwarves could be named ‘Frerin’ after all? She just hoped that she could find him without knowing his father’s name, as they all seemed to be referred to as ‘Orik son of Torik’ or some such thing.

The rush seemed to slow after a while, and the hallways became far less crowded. It seemed she had come in right at the end of a popular lunch hour, and now they had all returned to their places of occupation. Within minutes, the vast hall she was in was nearly empty, and she breathed a slight sigh of relief before walking cautiously up to a dwarf that was nearly as tall as she with a bald head covered in tattoos.

He looked extremely dangerous, but when he saw her approaching he didn’t immediately reach for the twin axes at his back, so Mena considered that a victory. She bowed slightly as she had seen Frerin do when introducing himself, and said “Mena, at your service.” He inclined his head politely and replied in a growl, “Dwalin, son of Fundin, at yours. Is there something I can help ye with, lass?”

She smiled and nodded. “Yes, please, if you would, can you tell me where I might find a dwarf who goes by the name of Frerin? He has bright golden hair, blue eyes, and a very friendly personality?” She watched the dwarf’s expression go swiftly from friendly (for him) and slightly curious to mildly suspicious in an instant.

He seemed somewhat confused about something as well. She waited patiently, albeit a bit nervously at his change in demeanor, and then he finally spoke again. “Ye couldn’t have just asked for Lord Frerin, Prince Under the Mountain, and brother to the King?” Mena’s eyes widened as she wondered at the possibility for just a moment before shaking her head at the absurdity.

“No, no that can’t be. I’m sorry; it must be a different Frerin. The dwarf I knew was certainly not a prince, although he acted like it at times.” She chuckled softly to herself at a fond memory, before speaking again. “The Frerin that I knew was... actually, I don’t believe he ever told me of his family or what he did for a living, but it isn’t possible for him to have been a prince. I apologize if I have caused offence or dishonor on your Prince Frerin by my words, I assure you, I spoke only of my friend. ‘Tis strange, how the dwarf I knew and the Prince Under the Mountain should share the same name...”

Dwalin seemed to agree, given his brow furrowed in confusion. “Aye lass, it is strange indeed, especially in that your description of your friend fits the prince perfectly. I am sorry, but I know of no other Frerin save our prince, so I can be of little assistance to you.”

Mena’s shoulders slumped slightly in discouragement, but she nodded her sincere thanks nonetheless. “Thank you Mister Dwalin. If by any chance you do happen to come across another dwarrow by the same name and appearance, I would be very grateful if you could alert me. I will be staying...” the human trailed off, realizing she had no place to stay. “I will be in the area. Thank you again for your time.”

The tall dwarf nodded and Mena waved an absentminded farewell before departing. She couldn’t help but worry that something horrible may have happened to Frerin in the year she had been gone, but surely Dwalin would have known _something_ , wouldn’t he? He certainly seemed the type to know of anyone who was in his territory. Struck abruptly by another thought, she whirled on her heel and quickly hurried back to the bald dwarrow.

His eyebrows rose slightly as he waited for her explanation as to her quick return, mild amusement at her strange behavior glinting in his eyes. “Mister Dwalin, I just wondered if perhaps the dwarf I knew went by another name. He was rather close-lipped whenever he spoke of his life previous to our meeting, and it is quite possible he gave me a false name to know him by, for reasons of his own. Do you know of any dwarves by my previous description that came to this mountain close to a year ago? He told me he had lived here many years ago, and unfortunate circumstances took him away. I know that he would have returned nearly thirteen months ago. Do you have any knowledge of such a dwarf?”

While Dwalin has been smiling slightly when she had begun to speak, as she continued, his face grew darker and darker, and his brow furrowed once more in both confusion and returned suspicion. “Lass, I think you are going to have to come with me” he growled out when she finished her query, and took her arm gently but firmly.

Mena’s eyes widened, and she paled and began to breathe quickly, fighting unsuccessfully against an upcoming panic attack. The physical connection sparked up memories not all that distant of her time enslaved, and she couldn’t help but lash out. She twisted his wrist, targeting pressure points to free her arm and she tried to run. Dwalin easily reached out and snagged her arm once again, wrapping it up behind her back and snagging her other shoulder in his free hand.

The slight pain from the pressure at her arm helped her to focus, and she relaxed slightly into his hold. “I’m sorry; I am so sorry Mister Dwalin! I... didn’t have an easy journey here, and there were some events that I would rather forget that haunt me still. Forgive me, I didn’t mean to resist arrest.” She held herself completely still, hoping she hadn’t broken some important dwarven law, having a horrible suspicion now that Dwalin must be some sort of guard, or perhaps even a captain.

The tall dwarf was scowling, but given his overall demeanor she suspected it was more of a neutral expression from him, and not an angered one. “I never said ye were under arrest lass. I will leave that decision to the king once we have settled this. If ye are who ye say ye are, and somehow know Prince Frerin, then ye will have nothing to fear, but if this is all some jest or an attempt at espionage upon dwarven royalty by Men ye cannot be allowed to go free. At the very least not until my prince and king are satisfied with your answers.”

Mena nodded quickly, almost frantically, assuring him that she would cooperate and not attempt to escape again until this misunderstanding was settled. Though she put on a calm facade, inwardly the young human was panicking. If Frerin hadn’t come into Erebor, what on Arda could have happened to him? She had seen with her own eyes his approach to the gate before the false messenger had distracted her. Mena thought of her sisters, all dead, and she had been unable to help them at all. Had something happened to her friend? Had she somehow failed Frerin as well?

Dwalin, seeming to sense that the only reason she had tried to flee had indeed been instinct, did not attempt to physically restrain her again. He did remain on his guard, however, and had Mena walk beside him, and not behind. As he led her through the nearly empty halls, she took a moment to observe the architecture, catching her breath at the awe-inspiring beauty. Anything to keep her mind off of what could have happened to her friend.

The two made their way up several flights of stairs, until they reached a massive pair of steel doors that were open but heavily guarded. The moment the dwarves on guard saw Dwalin, they snapped to attention, giving him respectful salutes. “Captain” one seeming to be in charge stated, bowing slightly. Dwalin in turn gave him a nod similar to that which he had given Mena earlier. “Lieutenant Vrigg” he acknowledged, “Is the King still holding court?”

“Aye sir, although it seems to be mostly arguments over delivery taxes to Lake-town amongst some of the more stone-headed of the council.” Dwalin grimaced sympathically, then waved his hand slightly and the dwarves instantly stepped aside to let him pass. He gestured for Mena to follow him as he entered what had to be the throne room.


	24. King Under the Mountain

Mena’s first impression of the throne room was that it seemed to be designed for the sheer purpose of intimidating any who were unwelcome that dared set foot in it. She noted that the flooring on either side of a rather intimidating walkway looked a great deal newer than the walkway itself, and she wondered if before there had simply been open space on either side. It wasn’t a reassuring thought, given that they were rather high up in the middle of a mountain at the time.

            The next thing she noticed were the small group of dwarven nobles that seemed to be arguing (squabbling, in her humble opinion) about some matter that indeed seemed to include taxes, although it was hard to tell as they switched frequently between Westron and Khuzdul. She had once made the mistake of asking Frerin to teach her a few Khuzdul words after hearing him curse when he slammed his toe in the doorway by mistake, and it had been the first time since the very first week when she had bought him that the dwarf had closed up and seemed almost angry with her.

            Sensing that what she had just requested was clearly a very foolish wish, she had quickly apologized and asked him to forget that she had ever made the request. He had agreed politely, of course, and then softened when he saw how his aloofness wounded her. The golden-haired dwarf explained that Khuzdul was a language sacred to the dwarves, and only dwarves and the very, _very_ rare few officially named Dwarf-friend were permitted to learn. They had dropped the subject there and left it at that.

            Now she recognized several of the harsh guttural sounds the nobles were muttering to themselves, and she stifled a (slightly hysterical) laugh when she heard something that Frerin had uttered whenever he accidentally stubbed a toe on the rare occasion he wasn’t wearing his boots. She may not speak Khuzdul, but she had a strong hunch that that was one of the more colorful swear words available.

            She next, of course, glanced up at the throne on the small dais, and had to hold back a gasp when she caught sight of the King Under the Mountain for the first time. Were Frerin a few years older, with black (and slightly silver-streaked) hair, as well as having a slightly different beard, she would swear by her life that her old friend sat upon the throne.

As they drew nearer, still unobserved, several minute differences became clear to her. The facial structures, while very similar, differed slightly and there was more of a care-worn look to the king’s face. Strangely enough, though Frerin had undoubtedly suffered great torture and pain at the slavers’ hands, he somehow managed to retain a cheerful and easy-going demeanor that was instantly obvious that the king did not possess, or at the least allow to show before an audience.

Eventually, their presence was noted, or rather, Dwalin’s was, which was enough for the king to rise from his throne and bark out, “ ** _Shazara!_** ” instantly silencing the bickering nobles. “Enough for today” the king said, once he had their attention. “We shall reconvene tomorrow to conclude negotiations regarding the taxes of exported goods to Dale. You are all dismissed.” The mighty dwarf king possessed a deep voice that was all at once compelling and commanding, the true voice of a king, and Mena shivered slightly, hoping to never find herself at odds with this powerful ruler.

Truthfully, she had never been comfortable with the idea of royalty, having had no need for it on their little farm on the borders of Gondor, and certainly not in the Shire. The Thain was more of a governor or mayor, and certainly very little resembling a king. The most she knew of royalty or something close to it she had read in books, unless one counted Lord Elrond. King Thranduil certainly was, but she had felt fear around everyone since her time as a slave, and she was only just recovering when she had met the Elvenking face to face. Thus, any fear or discomfort she may have felt in the presence of royalty had been nonexistent compared to her fear and discomfort from being around anyone looking so intimidating so soon after her time with the traders.

Yet now that Mena, fully recovered in her mind, stood in the presence of the king of the mightiest standing dwarven kingdom, she could feel fear and unease taking hold of her, and she struggled to remain composed. It was blatantly obvious that this dwarf had been born and raised to be a king, and he certainly seemed different from all the other dwarves she had come across so far, _with one notable exception_.

Frerin had held a similar bearing and demeanor, even when he had still been enslaved. It was what had drawn her attention that day well over three years ago, and she could not deny that perhaps Frerin could have had some relation to royalty after all. But _brother to the King under the Mountain_!? It was just unbelievable. Maybe a distant cousin or some such. From what she had read and heard from Frerin of dwarven culture, there were many connecting families, so it was not unlikely for him to be a distant cousin of this king. For all she knew, even Dwalin could be cousin to him in some way.

While she had been lost in her musing and unease, the last of the nobles had bowed low to their king and passed by Dwalin and Mena on their way out. She garnered a few curious stares, but for the most part the council seemed uncaring about the presence of a human in the throne room. She kept her gaze lowered, but remained vigilant, wondering what would transpire now. It was obvious that Dwalin thought her a spy, though the how and why evaded her. Surely a human with basic knowledge of one of the princes of Erebor was not such a surprise?

On the other hand, perhaps it seemed that she was a novice, unsure what she had gotten herself into when she had ‘agreed to spy on the royal family’. It would certainly explain Dwalin’s relative gentleness in dealing with her, considering that even now she was unbound and unharmed. Then she heard her name being spoken, as well as the name ‘Thorin’, which meant that Dwalin was on first-name terms with the dwarven king, and her eyes snapped back to her captor.

Dwalin was speaking, giving a report of the events that had led to a human being brought to the king by the Captain of the Royal Guard. Mena trembled slightly at that, hoping once again that no offence had been caused by their impromptu mini sparring match. She struggled not to visibly flinch when the king spoke again, this time addressing her directly.

“What is your name, lass?” his deep, rumbling voice asked, sounding suspicious but not enraged at the moment. “M-M... Mena, y-your Majesty” she murmured, barely above a whisper. She quickly fell to one knee and bowed her head, glancing up in time to see the king raise an eyebrow in surprise. He glanced at Dwalin for confirmation, who nodded briefly.

“Mena, then. Tell me, what did you mean by asking for my brother by name and description, yet claimed that the dwarf you sought was not of royal blood?” She raised her head to look at the king, wondering how her desire to see her friend again had led to being questioned by the King under the Mountain suspecting her to be a spy. “Y- your majesty, I-I... I meant no disrespect to the p-prince! I did not mean to insinuate that your brother was the same dwarf I knew. Any similarities b-between the dwarf whom I knew and the good prince are mere c-coincidence sire.”

The dwarf king then rose to his feet, gracefully descending the few steps of the dais to stand level with Dwalin and Mena. “Dwalin” the king said, his voice much less harsh than it had been at first. “Please seek out my brother and inform him that there is a human here who wishes to see him.” Mena opened her mouth to protest, wanting to state that she had no desire to see this ‘Prince Frerin’, whoever he was, especially if he would remind her of her own missing friend. Thorin lifted a hand to forestall any such arguments, however, and Dwalin nodded respectfully before departing the throne room.

“Rise lass” the king’s deep voice commanded, more gently than she had expected. “You are in no danger at present. Should my brother not recognize you, and have no knowledge of any other dwarves by the same name, then perhaps you should worry. However, if you are no spy, and mean no harm to my people, then you will find a welcome here in Erebor.”

She nodded gratefully at that, rising swiftly only to stumble by tripping over her own feet. She inwardly cursed her own clumsiness, which appeared whenever she was nervous, when it gained her another raised eyebrow from the watching king. Mena sincerely hoped that this Prince Frerin would know where _her_ Frerin had disappeared to, since the alternative did not look to end well for her.

A few short minutes passed, in which an awkward silence fell over the dwarf king and the lost human, and then a side door to the throne room, well hidden up to that point, opened up near the throne, and a familiar golden-haired figure stumbled out. He straightened quickly enough, with a quiet self-deprecating laugh, and brushed himself off before raising his eyes.

The king was saying something, some kind of greeting for his brother no doubt, but Mena had eyes only for the newcomer, total and utter shock overriding all other emotions and thoughts. Standing before her, next to his brother the King of Erebor, stood her Frerin.


	25. Reunited Once More

Mena stood, gaping in disbelief at the sight before her. The golden haired dwarf stood in surprise for a moment, before his entire face lit up, a beaming grin coming across his lips as he cried out loudly and unabashedly, “Mena!” The next thing the dumbstruck human knew, a solid, dwarfish body was slamming into hers, Frerin’s strong arms wrapping around her waist in a bone crushing hug. “Where have you been? What in Durin’s name happened to you?!” he demanded, pulling back a bit and glaring at her, though his eyes still shimmered with a hint of tears at the sight of his rescuer. The human couldn’t suppress a flinch at the unexpected and sudden contact, but when the dwarf tried to pull away, Mena caught his shoulders and drew closer to him again.

            For her part, Mena was still trying to understand the fact that the dwarf she had bought so long ago was a _prince_ , and brother to the _King Under the Mountain!_ “Frerin…?” she managed, retreating enough to be able to look into his face with a sudden urgency. “You’re really here! You made it home!” she choked out with a weak chuckle. Tears of relief finally spilled from her eyes, and she quickly closed the distance between them again. When she pulled away, the dwarf had a smile on his face to match hers, both overjoyed to be reunited once again.

            “O’ course, lass. Where else would I be?” he quirked a brow. “Ye still did not tell me what happened to ye. Last I saw, we were coming up upon the gates of Erebor together. What happened?” Mena’s smile slid off her face, and her shoulders drooped a bit. She drew back a bit, wrapping her arms around herself in an unconsciously defensive gesture, and murmured, “I… was delayed.” As she gave a brief explanation, Frerin’s grin diminished, and then vanished completely, and when she told him of the slavers, he let out a g _rowl_.

            She cut herself off, glancing behind him for a moment at the king, still sitting upon his throne, apparently just as surprised as they had been, but Frerin brought her attention back. “Forgive me, lass- I should have been there.” Her eyes widened, and she clasped one of his shoulders to emphasize her next words, shaking her head. “Nay! Nothing they, or I, did was your fault in any way. I should have known that letter was false. Even if it hadn’t been, I should have at least come with you into your home, and gathered supplies, made a plan, _something_.” He still looked disheartened, but asked for her to continue.

            In deference to his clear rage at what was clearly done to her, she skimmed over as many details as she could, giving him only a brief overview of her time as a slave. The implications were clear, however, and Mena could read the warring sorrow and rage clearly writ across his face. When she described her purchase by the dwarrow brothers, however, both the prince and the king perked up, and Thorin rose and moved to stand beside his brother. “Their names” he demanded, fierce rage coming over his face. “Did you hear their names?”

            She glanced at Frerin for reassurance, uncomfortable at her proximity to the king. He gave her an encouraging nod, though his gaze had darkened with fury as well. “Y-Yes, your majesty. But, may I ask, why?” He narrowed his eyes, but when he saw her obvious fear, his visage softened slightly. “Because no dwarrow who would condone the slave trade will ever find welcome in Erebor.” He stated gently but very seriously.

            She shook her head again, looking between the two quickly. “Oh, but you don’t understand! They were- they were kind to me! They did not treat me as a slave, they helped me! They gave me food, and let me rest, and didn’t want me to-…” she cut herself off, but neither dwarrow had doubt as to what she did not say. Neither looked convinced, either, and the king lifted both his eyebrows in question, unwilling to let this go. Dropping her head in defeat, Mena whispered, “I think it was F-Fíli and Kíli, your majesty. But please do not cause them harm on my account, they truly did treat me very well…” she stopped once again, this time at the identical expressions of anger and exasperation on the brothers’ faces before her.

            “Dwalin!” the king barked, making her jump in surprise. For a moment, she feared she had done something wrong, her instincts and habits from being enslaved so deeply ingrained that any sudden movement or loud noise still caused her to fear. Her eyes went vacant, as she stood frozen, trapped in her fear and memories, but then Frerin grasped her arm, lending her his strength and support, and smiled reassuringly, bringing the human back to herself.

The fierce Captain of the Guard appeared at his king’s call within seconds, clasping his fist to his chest and bowing to the king, then standing at attention. “Bring my nephews at once” was all that Thorin said, shaking his head slightly in clear exasperation. Mena swayed slightly on her feet, looking at Frerin once again, confusion once again overtaking her. “You have sons?” she muttered, wondering if she was still in the Elvenking’s halls, dreaming.

The dwarrow’s eyes narrowed a bit in concern, as he truly took in the human’s appearance for the first time. At first, he had only been joyful to see her once again, safely within the mountain, and then, his horror at hearing her tale of what had happened had taken his full attention, but now he truly _looked_ at her, it was clear she had not escaped her ordeal unscathed. While she had obviously received medical attention at some point between her _purchase_ by his foolhardy nephews and her arrival at Erebor, she was far from fully recovered. Judging by the distinctly elven garb she was wearing, it didn’t take a genius to deduce from whence her aid had come.

Even with the skilled healing aid of the Fair Folk, Mena still looked greatly changed from the cheerful human that had saved him when he was a slave himself. She was far thinner, bordering on gaunt and her eyes were sunken, her entire manner speaking of a deep exhaustion that a few days’ recovery would not heal. As his sister-sons had returned home from Kíli’s hunting trip only three days before, (strangely subdued, though none had paid it much mind), he knew that the human would have had less than a week to begin to recover, and even with the aid of the elves, she could not be fully healed in so short a time. All of which was to say nothing of the nasty scar marring nearly the entirety of the left side of her face.

            Frerin turned to look at his brother, who had risen from his throne and descended the steps, now standing at the foot of the dais to his throne, looking between the human and his brother curiously, a dark anger still burning in his gaze. Frerin glanced back to Mena, who was still standing beside him; ill-concealed fear and discomfort clear in her gaze. The golden prince sighed a bit, gently and slowly reaching out to his human, and when her eyes snapped to his once more, he murmured softly, “You are still recovering. Forgive me, my friend. I should have realized sooner. You need rest, this can wait.”

            Mena sagged slightly in relief; now that she knew Frerin was indeed home safe (and a _prince_? Honestly? It still seemed very surreal; perhaps everything would make sense again after a good night’s sleep in a very safe place) she was more than ready to rest once more, and perhaps never travel again. Then she glanced somewhat nervously to the Dwarven King, still very uneasy in his presence, but he seemed to agree with his younger brother, and dismissed them with a nod and a quiet, gruff command to “Rest well.”

            As Frerin and Mena began to depart the throne room, the dwarrow prince guiding the human to the same side entrance he had made use of earlier, the main doors to the throne room swung open once more, and Dwalin entered, Fíli and Kíli behind him. Just as Frerin was opening the door for Mena to pass through, the dark haired prince caught sight of her, and his eyes went wide. He nudged his brother and yelled, “Fí, the human! She’s here! The elves didn’t keep her!”

Mena felt a tiny grin cross her face at that, and she looked forward to the next day when she might speak with the brothers, the first to show her kindness as a slave and those who enabled her to become free, without being their property or exhausted beyond measure. Frerin grinned as well, rolling his eyes as his nephews both chattered excitedly behind them, and plaintively asked why ‘their’ human was leaving just as they arrived. As the door swung shut behind Frerin and Mena, they could just make out the king muttering to himself, “Mahal give me strength…”


	26. An Unnecessary Healer

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hey all! My apologies that this is so late, and that it’s only a filler chapter, but I got really sick for about a week, and completely lost motivation to do much beyond sleeping and breathing. No joke. But I’ve improved quite a bit, so I was able to edit this a bit and get it up. Better late than never, eh? Hopefully I’ll get my stuff together soon and will find the motivation to wrap this story up. I have some notes on the ending, so now I just need to write it up. Should be only four or five more chapters left on this one! :)

Mena was dreaming. There was no other explanation for the utter peace she felt flooding through her. The last time she had felt so content, she and Bilbo and Frerin had been safe, happy, and together in Bag End. She felt so comfortable, resting easily on a soft surface, far softer and warmer than the ground she was used to, and she could swear she could almost hear Frerin’s voice. Her eyes shot open then, the human sitting straight up. She c _ould_ hear Frerin’s voice! “Frerin?” Mena queried softly, blinking at the dimness of the room she was in, the memories of the previous week coming back to her. She was in Erebor.

            The golden dwarf in question stood in the doorway to the room she had slept in, arguing in hushed tones with another dwarrow, with bushy gray hair and a rather uniquely braided beard. “I _know_ plenty of deep, uninterrupted sleep is essential to healing, Óin, but Mahal curse it, I fear for her!” The gray haired dwarrow, presumably Óin, was holding some sort of horn up to his ear as a hearing aid, and nodded at the concerned prince.

“Aye, laddie, but you should not be. Between you and Dwalin, I have been told enough to know that if she could make it all the way up here from Laketown, then there is little chance of her succumbing to any injuries now. Especially as it sounds as though she was perfectly coherent when speaking with ye and the King. Now if you wouldn’t mind steppin’ out of the doorway like an overzealous guard, I’d be more ‘n happy to take a look at my newest patient.”

            That said, Óin moved into the room as soon as Frerin permitted it, only to raise his eyebrows in surprise to find the human already sitting up, looking around in bewilderment. “Easy there, lass. You’re safe here.” he said soothingly, holding his hands up reassuringly. Frerin darted forward then, much lighter on his feet than any dwarf should be, in the healer’s opinion. Although compared to that rascal Nori, Óin supposed the prince could be excused. He shook his head a bit, refocusing in time to see his Prince embracing the human quite enthusiastically. She appeared just as bewildered at the hug as Óin was, but returned it readily enough.

            When Frerin pulled back, beaming, Mena glanced at him with a confused smile. “Not that I’m complaining, but what was that for?” The prince just continued to grin, and replied “Nothing, lass. I’m just ecstatic that you are here, safe at last!” Despite his cheerful words, his eyes bespoke concern, and Mena narrowed her eyes a bit in confusion, but allowed the matter to go unquestioned at the time, as she was more interested in the new dwarrow. If whatever had given the dwarf pause was cause for concern, she trusted that he would tell her when it became necessary.

            “Lass?” the stranger’s voice drew her from her thoughts, and Mena focused in on the gray haired dwarrow once again. “Ah- forgive my discourtesy; I fear I am out of sorts. Mena, at your service” she stated, awkwardly half-bowing from where she sat in the bed. Frerin had shifted to sit at the foot of the bed next to her, looking expectantly towards Óin. Although the elder dwarf had appeared to have some difficulty hearing earlier, he seemed to have understood the human’s introduction quite easily, and he gave her a gentle smile in return. Bowing slightly, he replied cheerily, “Óin son of Gróin, at yours and your family’s!”

            The human glanced at Frerin for a moment, who shot her a crooked grin in reassurance. “Óin here is the best healer in all of Erebor. I asked him if he’d be willin’ to take a look at some of yer wounds, if ya don’t mind lass? I understand if ye’d rather just be left alone after… everything that happened, but I figured even the elves ain’t perfect, so if ye were still hurtin’ anywhere, we could help ye?”

            Mena shook her head slightly, that hated fear once again creeping up on her, despite her struggles against it. Logically, she knew that she was in no danger, and that Frerin would sooner submit himself to slavery once more than allow her to come to harm in his presence, but her mind fought against itself. Panic overtook her, and distantly she could hear swift, stuttering breathing, and a loud pounding, and it took her a moment to realize it was her own breath and heartbeat.

            “ _Mena_. Mena, hear my voice. Concentrate just on me. Can you hear me? Listen to my voice. Come on, Mena. I’m here. I’m right here.” Somehow, the dwarf’s voice pierced the blind panic that had overtaken her, and though she was gasping desperately for breath, she felt herself latch onto his voice, allowing it to anchor her and keep her grounded. Several minutes passed as she struggled desperately for control, but eventually, she found herself coming back to reality, and when she blinked her eyes open, she found her face buried in the prince’s golden mane,

            She had curled into a ball, nearly on the dwarf’s lap, hiding her face in his shoulder, while his hands gently and carefully rested upon her back as he murmured nonsensical words and phrases to soothe her. Finally, the human felt fully recovered from the fit, and sheepishly sat up, pulling away from Frerin a bit and muttering a very quiet ‘thanks’ to the prince. Looking up, she saw the healer standing near the door, sympathetic understanding on his face, his posture relaxed and nonthreatening.

            “I’m-” she barely managed to start, when Frerin interrupted, his voice still gently, but steel tones underlying, adding a very stern gravity to his next words. “Mena, I love you as a sister, but I swear to Mahal, if you try to apologize for having a panic attack after all you have been through, so help me I will sic Dís on you.” At those words, Mena noted the healer’s face rapidly paling, but the prince wasn’t finished yet, so she focused upon his words again. “I am aware that you have yet to meet my little sister, but let me assure you, she frightens _Thorin_. And Dwalin. And myself. As well as any dwarrow with their wits about them.”

            The human looked into his eyes at that, and saw that same spark of humor and mischief that was such a vital part of the dwarf’s personality, though there was the underlying sorrow that had been a part of him since she had first met him. She managed a shaky grin, and replied, “Very well then. I will not apologize, for fear of your dread sister’s wrath.” Sobering a bit, she glanced at both dwarves, solemnly stating, “But I must thank you both for your understanding nonetheless. It is-difficult; to come to terms with what has happened. I am grateful, beyond words for your support.” Although she had spoken to both, her last sentence was clearly directed at Frerin only, and the dwarrow nodded back, understanding in his eyes.

            She turned to Óin once more, and spoke softly, “Master Óin, I am grateful for the offer of healing, but the elves did enough. There is nothing more that can be done for any of my physical wounds besides wait for the time they will take to heal.” He had lifted his ear horn to his ear when she had spoken, and nodded in understanding, but then took a step forward and crossed his arms in a manner that Mena had begun to call a ‘Stubborn Dwarf Pose’.

“I am gladdened to hear that your healing is going well, lass, but at the least, I can recommend a food plan to help get your weight up. I am aware that Men are more slender than dwarrows, but even for a human, you are clearly at a very unhealthy weight. If you do not wish to be examined for your physical wounds, I will respect that decision, but you should at the very least rest well, and often. Drink plenty of water, and eat as much as you can, when you can, but don’t overdo it. I have here a list of foods that you should be safe to eat for the first few weeks, and then you can slowly build up to more solid and heavy foods.”

Mena thought back to her time after being rescued, first by the dwarf brothers and then by the elves, and remembered how little she had been able to eat without feeling nauseous. The elves had provided only light broths, and she had stuck to such food in Dale before entering the mountain, but now she realized why. “My thanks, Healer. I am grateful for your aid” she stated, taking the proffered list of foods.

Frerin had not spoken for a time, which was rather uncharacteristic of the dwarrow, and when the human looked to him, he sat, staring at the far wall with an expression that was an odd mixture of contemplation and murderous. Óin glanced over at his prince, and then spoke loudly, “Come along then, Sire. The lass needs her rest.” The golden prince jolted out of his thoughts, and then looked as though he would argue or complain, when the healer merely made a swift gesture with his hands. Frerin did likewise, and Mena watched in bewilderment as they communicated in a sign language entirely unknown to her for a short time. Then, just as suddenly as they had started, they stopped, the prince’s shoulders dropping a bit in defeat, and he nodded his agreement to whatever had been said.

Mena would have argued, or requested that he stay, but already she could feel her strength waning once again. It was odd, that she had not felt so exhausted or run down before, but then, perhaps her body finally realized that she was safe. She had not felt at home in Mirkwood, so even though she was safe perhaps subconsciously she had still kept her guard up. Now, however, with Frerin nearby, she had finally relaxed her guard and realized how much she needed to rest and heal, and so she let the dwarrows both depart without a fuss. She gave Frerin a brief wave when he turned back in the doorway, and then sank back into the comfortable bed once again, wondering only briefly whose chambers she had taken before she lost consciousness.


	27. The Schemes and Musings of Princes

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Filler Chapter! I'd love to say the next one will be out soon, but I shouldn't make promises I can't necessarily keep. So, hopefully, it will be up fairly soon, but no promises. Please, comment/review and let me know what you think! Also, someone mentioned the possibility of Mena being pregnant due to the occurrences in past chapters. I'm honestly not sure what to do with that, (truthfully it hadn't occurred to me before he pointed it out) but I'd love some feedback! I could write it either way, so let me know what you think!

“That would never work you idiot!” The darker haired brother quickly ducked to avoid am exasperated slap to the head from his elder sibling. “Well then, what do you suggest? How do you propose we get past the guards?” Kíli demanded, glaring at his brother. Fíli rolled his eyes, “Not by dressing as dwarrowdams and pretending to be cleaning maids, that’s for certain.” The younger huffed, folding his arms petulantly and muttering, “It _could_ have worked.”

            The elder prince went back to pacing, while the younger tugged at his hair, both trying to discern a way to sneak past the guards their uncles had placed on _their_ human. They only wanted to see her again, and make certain that she was alright! One would think they had done something awful, the way Thorin had lectured them about the evils of slavery. They knew full well how dark and terrible a thing it was, and had only participated in the trade to save the human’s life. They would never have harmed her, and had planned to free her the moment they reached Erebor, and would have done, had the elves not intercepted them! Yet with the way the king had gone on, one would think they had enslaved the girl themselves.

            Unfortunately, the two guards who had been placed at the door to their Uncle Frerin’s personal chambers were very good at what they did, and well aware of the princes’ abilities. Bifur and Gloin were both very highly ranked military commanders, and yet had been placed on simple guard duty. This might have been insulting in other circumstances, but when the king had explained who it was they guarded, the woman responsible for the safe return of Prince Frerin, both considered it an honor to stand guard until she should feel safer within the Mountain.

They had been assigned to the room at nightfall the previous evening, and would not be relieved from duty until Prince Frerin or King Thorin commanded it, which was unlikely to happen any time soon. Even Nori, whom the young princes knew fairly well by their friendship with his younger brother Ori, had been asked to keep an eye out for her. Fíli and Kíli did not know the older dwarf’s official title, but he always seemed to be aware of anything of any importance that was happening in and around Erebor at any given time. His loyalty was unshakeable, and unquestionably Thorin’s, so some of his… less legal inclinations tended to be overlooked, especially considering how rare the occasion was that he was caught.

If even the Spymaster had been asked to keep an eye out for their human, Uncle Frerin must have been more concerned for her than they might have previously believed. Their experience with the human had been brief, and given her mental state at the time, they had learned very little about her, but the Mena from their uncle’s stories had sounded to be a courageous, fearless, and selfless lass. She certainly sounded capable of looking after herself, especially within the mountain where none would wish her harm.

Truth be told, the way he had spoken of the human had rather reminded the brothers of how their mother spoke of Víli, their late father, whenever she told them stories of the brave dwarrow warrior who had stolen the princess’ heart. Of course, with the latest letter from their mother stating that she had arranged for things in the Blue Mountains to be handled while she took a leave of absence, perhaps when she arrived in Erebor to see the younger of her brothers alive again, they could ask her opinion of their uncle’s clear infatuation with the human.

The princes paced on, trying to determine some way to get into their uncle’s chambers without being intercepted, but thus far they were at a loss. And if their presence was missed in training, well, it wouldn’t be the end of the world, now would it? So long as Dwalin wasn’t leading the training that day. If he was, nowhere in Erebor would be a safe enough hiding place from the Captain’s wrath.

***

Frerin exchanged polite nods with Gloin and Bifur, allowing some of his gratitude for their stoic protection of Mena to show on his face as he dismissed them for the day. While placing a guard on her door may have been a wee bit excessive, the prince still felt horribly guilty for all that had happened to one who should have been under his protection, and this was but one small way to begin paying her back for all she had done.

While it was doubtful that any dwarf under the mountain would wish harm upon her, and anyone else that might would never make it as far as the Royal Chambers, Frerin knew how much it had helped him those first few nights of freedom, just knowing that someone was nearby. Even if, for him, it had only been a hobbit and a woman, the knowledge had been enough to give comfort. He himself had spent the night in the rooms adjacent to his chambers; the rooms that typically would be given to the Consort of the prince.

The irony was not lost on him, but he put it out of his mind for the time being. Even if Mena was in any sort of condition to begin pursuing a romantic relationship, it was doubtful she would be interested in a dwarf of any kind. He had met many Men before Azanulbizar, and with the very rare exception, none had been interested in him until they heard that he was a prince.

Once, he had succumbed to his curiosity, and asked a drinking companion of his what most Men preferred as far as looks, and was told that Elves and humans who resembled elves were very popular. While the man was slurring, and rather unsteady, Frerin had still managed to glean that, to most humans, tall and slender was attractive, whereas short and stout was less so. Many human men grew beards, but rarely did they braid or bead them, and few were as long as that belonging to the average dwarf. Elfin facial features were another point the man had depicted, waxing poetic (rather impressively, given the state of his intoxication at the time) about their high cheekbones and glimmering eyes.

At the time, Frerin remembered finding it uproariously funny, and had never imagined being jealous of elves or unsure of his own appeal, but now he found himself running his hand over his beard in thought. Then he shook his head at his own foolishness. Here he was, dithering at the doorway to his own chambers, wondering whether he would be at all attractive to a human who had gone through some of the worst abuse one could weather not a full week previously! What was wrong with him? And since when did he feel attracted to Mena in a romantic way?

Mahal, this was bad. He had felt only respect and companionship with Mena since the day she had freed him, so why now was he thinking of her in a different light? Granted, it had taken a while for her to earn his trust, but once he was certain of her sincerity in wanting only to free and aid him, he had been nothing but grateful. He had told her that he loved her as a sister just the day before, and while that was true, there were other feelings mixed in. Feelings that had nothing to do with brotherly love, and everything to do with the memory of her laugh those nights around the fire on their journey to his home, of the sparkle in her eyes as they bantered back and forth, of the fearless and bold way she was unafraid to stand up to nearly anything if she felt it necessary.

His last thought before rolling his shoulders back and knocking softly upon his own door, was, _Aulë_ _, please, have mercy. Do not let Dís or Thorin find out!_


	28. Deja Vu and Breakfast

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> *Peeks out cautiously, expecting explosives and hostility* Hi! I have returned… much, much later than I intended. My sincerest apologies. Life hit hard. Again. But, have another chapter! I am wrapping this story up (Finally!), so there should only be three or four more chapters, but I will NOT abandon it, regardless of how slow of a writer I may be. (Truth be told, I procrastinate until the last possible second, then write up chapters in about an hour. What do ya do?) Please enjoy, and thanks so much to those who have commented and/or left kudos!

            Frerin entered his chambers cautiously when there was no reply to his knock. “Mena?” he called softly, glancing to his bed, where the human lay. She appeared to remain asleep, though it was clear that her dreams were troubled, for she tossed and turned restlessly. “N-no! You’re lying! You have to be!” she murmured desperately, before rolling over and curling into a ball. “Mena! You are safe! It’s alright, you are safe now. Come on lass, wake up!” the prince said urgently. The human had yet to awaken though, so he gently lay a hand upon her shoulder and gave her a shake.

            Less than a second later, the dwarf found himself struggling for breath as a surprisingly strong hand shot up and did its level best to crush his windpipe. “Me-na” he choked out, his own hands instinctively coming up to grasp her arm, though he caught himself before he harmed her in an attempt to get away. The human’s eyes were had been glassy and unseeing, though filled with unshed tears, but now she blinked several times, and the pressure on Frerin’s throat eased up a bit. “F-Frerin? What…?” she muttered, confused, before seeming to realize what she had done, and releasing him instantly. Mena drew her knees up to her chest, wrapping her arms around them and burying her face in them.

            In a few moments, while the dwarf stood by helplessly, unsure of how he could help, the human regained control of herself, and she looked up again. “I am so sorry, my friend. Are you well?” The human looked up from her trembling hands, and then managed a shaky grin. “Now, this seems very familiar to me, but I believe I was in your position last time!” The dwarf merely stared at her for a moment, before breaking into laughter that was more relieved than amused.

            “And please, do not apologize. My dreams have been dark of late, though it is certainly through no fault of yours!” Frerin nodded, sitting cautiously beside her, but a surprised, soft smile crossed his face when the human showed no hesitation before moving to his side, curling into his embrace. Gently, he asked, “What did you dream of?” and he could feel her tense against him. “…My sisters. They… did not survive in the White City.”

            Frerin pushed himself away slightly, turning to look into Mena’s eyes, confused. “When did you discover this?” She paused, then her eyes widened in realization and horror. “The slavers… They told me that my sisters had perished, but the letter. I thought of nothing but my sisters’ peril at the time, but there were many inconsistencies. If they had so easily faked the letter, could they not also have lied about my sisters? What if they yet live? They could be sick, enslaved, or even dead! They-”

            “Mena! Calm yourself, my friend. We can send a message to Minas Tirith at once.” The human took a deep breath, ashamed at all the times she had lost control over herself recently, and then nodded once, though she remained concerned. “But even the fastest runner would surely take many weeks to reach Gondor.” Even as she spoke, she knew she was but complaining, and ducked her head in shame. After everything Frerin had done for her, this was how she repaid him? By complaining about the help he so freely and generously offered? How could she?

            The dwarf quickly interrupted her thoughts, with a soft chuckle. “Nay, Mena. Have I not told you of the Ravens of the Mountain? They will take a message even unto the White City if I command it, and command it I shall!” She looked up at the dwarf with sheer gratitude in her gaze, and then leaned into his sturdy frame for yet another hug. After her time under the slavers’ hands, she craved contact with one she trusted, though she yet flinched from strangers so much as looking at her oddly.

* * *

 

            A short time later, in which Frerin made a quick and rather embarrassed exit after Mena requested privacy so that she might change into the clothing he had had provided for her, the prince entered again with a sweeping (and slightly teasing) bow, saying grandly, “Come, Lady Mena, and look upon my kingdom!” The human could not repress a snort, but then returned with a curtsey just as exaggerated, stating, “But of course, my lord! For a noble prince such as yourself surely must rule over a great kingdom indeed!”

            Despite the levity of their banter, Mena remained fairly nervous, and gratefully took the dwarf’s proffered arm as they departed the rooms she had been staying in. Logically, she knew no harm was likely to come to her within Erebor, and yet, still her fear plagued her. Frerin’s presence, however, was as a balm, casting out her fear, and it had not yet returned when she remained near to the prince. They traveled for a time, going from magnificent stone hallways to open arches and many different doors, most of which the dwarf swept past with nary a glance. He kept up a quiet commentary, explaining that they had just departed from the region within the mountain where all the Royal Chambers were located.

            “Then, whose room was I sleeping in? I was in one of the royals’ chambers?!” Shockingly, the dwarf seemed rather embarrassed at her query, not meeting her gaze, and even scuffing a boot, almost like a child might. “I-er… I may have, putyouinmypersonalchambers?” He rushed out the answer, then glanced at her sheepishly. Mena had no response, simply staring at him in surprise. The dwarf quickly continued, “Just to keep you safe, of course! There are other room quite nearby that I stayed quite comfortably in! It’s only just that, my chambers are some of the safest within the Mountain, and I wanted you to be as safe as could be, especially after what you went through, and-”

            “Frerin.” The human had started grinning slightly halfway through his nervous rambling, and she finally took pity on the flustered dwarf and stopped him. “I am grateful.” Then, she grew more serious, “Truly. Your hospitality and generosity continues to astound me, and I am very grateful for all you have done for me.”

            “Not at all! After all, I owe you, do I not?” he stated cheerfully, and they continued on. Soon, as they descended a sweeping set of stairs, Mena perked up a bit, the smells assaulting her nose nothing short of delicious. The prince, of course, noticed, and smirked. “Breakfast?” he offered, gesturing needlessly to a door on his left, for the human still remained nearly glued to his side. When she nodded, distracted by the scents and sights around her, Frerin simply continued to smile, and then led her in the direction of Erebor’s massive kitchens, wondering what the head chef, Bombur, had dreamed up now.

            After a very delicious (though light, for she was still adjusting to solid foods after her starvation) breakfast, Frerin lead her up through the mountain again, reaching a door that lead outside. The fresh air and sunlight was very welcome to the human, and even though there was little room on the mountainside, there was a slight plateau, even with a bit of coarse grass, and she collapsed happily onto it, closing her eyes for a moment. She then opened them again, and grinned up at the dwarf, upside-down.

            Frerin gazed into her deep, intense blue eyes, so similar to his own, even right down to the shadows of past pain, but as he looked at her, he felt love well up within him once again, and his heart stuttered. He took one step closer, a smile lighting his own face automatically in response to her own, and bravely, he began, “Mena, I-”

            *Thud*. “ _Ouch! Fíli! They heard that!_ ”

“ _Shut up, they can probably hear you too!_ ”

“We did.” Frerin said, dryly. “Come on out, you two.”

A great deal more shuffling and jostling could be heard, then, sheepishly, Mena’s past owners shuffled out of the doorway she and the eldest prince had emerged from mere minutes ago. Fíli, at least, had the grace to look embarrassed to have been caught stalking the pair, but Kíli simply grinned at his uncle. “Oh, hello Uncle Frerin! Fancy meeting you here!”

“ **Kíli!** ”


	29. And In the End

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I was wrong, there aren’t three more chapters. I chose a cop-out. Heh. Oops. Well, this is it, then. I really don’t have much else to put here, but I’m a sucker for happy endings, so here you go. I hope you’ve enjoyed!

Mena smiled at the brothers, even as she shifted ever so slightly to stand a bit behind Frerin. While she could now recognize that they had truly not meant her any harm, and had done all they could to aid her when she had been at their mercy, the human still could not help but feel nervous being so close to them. Frerin’s comforting presence helped immensely, and she casually moved just a bit closer to him.

            “Boys…” Frerin trailed off, clearly very exasperated, and gently reached back, grasping Mena’s hand reassuringly. “Did we not have an agreement? That you would stay away until she was well enough to speak with you about what happened?”

            “Did we? I can’t recall. Perhaps we did, but the terms were not stated clearly. Perhaps she is ready? Or perhaps…” Kíli grinned at his younger uncle, who was trying his hardest to look irritated, but a grin twitched at the corners of his mouth. Fíli, meanwhile, tilted his head to look past his brother and his uncle to the human, who clearly steeled herself, and then stepped up to Frerin’s side, bowing just slightly from the waist to the brothers. “It is an honor to meet you both, when we are all well rested, and on a similar footing.” She stated, smiling slightly.

            All three prince’s faces lit up delightedly, and Fíli and Kíli bowed in unison, stating together, “Fíli, and Kíli, at your service!” The human’s smile widened.

***

            Everything began to fall in place after that. Mena healed; body, mind, and spirit, and soon enough, she and Frerin were getting up to all kinds of mischief, both within the mountain and around the outskirts, and caused Thorin to grow more than one gray hair with their antics. Fíli and Kíli rose to the challenge magnificently, accepting their younger uncle’s actions as blanket permission, and so began the First Great Prank War of Erebor.

            The ravens sent out to seek word on Mena’s sisters returned with the joyous news that her sisters were indeed as of yet among the living. She immediately wanted to depart, but this time, Frerin went with her, as well as a small complement of the prince’s men, hand-picked for the mission, with Dwalin chief among them. Even the gruff warrior had quickly warmed up to Mena when her story was told, and he learned that she was to thank for Frerin’s safe return.

            There was a most joyful reunion with Amy, Tamina, and Ismira, all of whom were ecstatic to see their oldest sister again, having feared the worse when she had stopped sending letters, and Bilbo had been uncertain of her whereabouts. While so far West, Frerin and Mena both wished to speak with the generous hobbit again, and they enjoyed a wonderful visit with him. Then, when their little Company departed again, heading back to the Lonely Mountain, Bilbo decided to come with them, to be able to ‘go on an adventure’, as he put it, and to be able to see new sights.

            When they returned safely to Erebor, the king threw a great feast for them, and all were made very welcome. Mena’s sisters were a bit subdued, unused to such splendor and wealth as was so freely displayed within the Mountain, but when Bombur’s brother, Bofur, showed up and worked his charms on them, all three were soon laughing and smiling brightly at the dwarves. Some weeks later, Bilbo returned home, escorted by Bofur, Bifur, Gloin, and Nori, with all sorts of amazing tales to tell.

            Years passed, and the four human women were made welcome in Erebor. Slowly, over a very great deal of careful wooing, Frerin began to court Mena, though he went about it rather needlessly. After countless attempted gifts of gems and jewelry that were either accepted politely but without enthusiasm, or refused, the dwarf had all but given up hope for any sort of a romance between them, when Balin intervened. He took the prince by the arm, dragged him to Mena, and then gave him a little push forward. “Just tell her how you feel, laddie.”

            One very awkward conversation, and one entirely unexpected but extremely welcome kiss later, the two were courting. Soon enough, the dwarves celebrated a first for their people, a wedding between a dwarf and a human. They lived many years in peaceful happiness with their families within the mountain, and one could even say, lived ‘happily ever after’.

End.


End file.
